


Straitjackets Are the New Black

by temarcia



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games), Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Accidents, Action/Adventure, Arkham Asylum, Canon-Typical Violence, Dress Up, Evil Plans, Fluff, Gen, Heist, Hobbies, Hostage Situations, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Instability, One-Sided Attraction, Relationship Advice, Rivalry, Team Up, Therapy, Villains, deathtraps
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2019-08-28 08:50:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 28,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16720176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/temarcia/pseuds/temarcia
Summary: Arkham has seen plenty of crazy. You can't choose your family, and you can't choose your fellow inmates either - so better get used to them.This is a collection of short stories focused on various Batman villains.Enjoy the madness!





	1. Not who he expected

**Author's Note:**

> Story by temarcia  
> Featuring: The Scarecrow - BatmanTAS

There were two bodies on the floor, no signs of gunshots and no blood, just two of his men lying flat in the hallway of his safe house. Professor Crane let out a sigh of disappointment, he could swear he had left the hideout only for ten minutes and these incompetent fools couldn't even keep his lab protected. He passed around the men on the floor, not bothering to give them any more attention. From what he had already gathered, they had been knocked out – blunt object to the head. He reached into the pocket of his trench coat, good thing he never left without a dose of his precious toxin.

He walked down the stairs, right to the basement, the light was on like nothing had ever happened. The doors were shut, he stopped and listened in. If Batman had found this place, it was better to not go in there. However, if that had been one of Falcone's thugs, then the evening should still be fun – for Scarecrow.

He listened in but in there it was quiet, only some soft, muffled sounds like...sobbing?

Both curious and suspicious, Professor Crane pushed the door open. There was a mallet lying on the floor, forgotten, and there was a familiar figure curled in his armchair. Crying.

“Harleen?”

Doctor Quinzel raised her blonde head and turned around to look at him. Her makeup was flaking, tears falling from her eyes like waterfalls. The clown-costume she was wearing didn't look complete.

“Professor Crane,” she uttered, her voice weak and trembling. “So-orry for the intrusion. I just...” She didn't finish as the uncontrolled sobbing shook her whole body.

“It's OK, my child,” Crane attempted to calm her down, taken by surprise with that whole, new situation. “I'm not very busy right now. And don't worry about those goons you knocked out, I'm not angry about it.”

“Thankyouuu...” Harleen wailed and covered her face in her hands. “I had nowhere to gooo... Red's in Arkham... And Mr. J... He... He...”

“He kicked you out?”

“Woooorse!” She lamented loudly, throwing her arms in the air. “He replaced me with a stupid robot!”

The absurdity of that statement didn't change the fact that the girl was honestly heartbroken. Under any other circumstances, Scarecrow would gladly prey on this sweet fear of abandonment but this was Harleen – the only person in this god-damned city who had always treated him with nothing but kindness and respect, politeness and understanding – he was feeling obligated to repay her with the same.

“Come now, child,” He walked to her to pat her pretty head. “How can you think that some... machine could ever replace you?”

“He put it in my costume!!!” She clutched on his coat with sheer desperation. “And he said, it doesn't talk so much so it's better than the original!”

With a sorrowful cry, Harley threw her arms around him and hugged him with rib-crushing strength. Jonathan let out an 'oof' but did not protest.

“Oh, Professor!” She continued, face buried in his sweater. “What should I dooo!”

He could now smell alcohol from her. What had she been doing before he got here? Not breaking any laws, he hoped, and luring Batman right into his hideout.

“You should stay here until morning,” he advised her, the house had a guest room and Jonathan had planned on working in the basement the whole night anyway. “And tomorrow... Well, we could visit the Joker...”

Harleen stopped sobbing and looked him in the eyes.

“You don't mean to...”

“Oh, no-no,” He smirked. “I highly doubt my toxin would even have any effect on him. But while we talk, you sneak in and then something might just accidentally happen to that robot... Something like, I don't know, a mallet to its head?”

“Oooh...” The smile slowly returning to her pretty face was worth the doubtful pleasure of talking to the Joker in the near future. “Oh, I get it... Thank you, Professor!” She hugged him again.

He awkwardly hugged back, patting her back in a friendly manner.

“By the way, where did the Joker even get that robot from?” As soon as he asked, the answer already came to him. It was pretty obvious. “You know what, nevermind...”

The next time he saw him, he'd have a word with Edward about building robots for someone else's boyfriends.


	2. Tea time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story by WorstCase  
> Featuring: The Mad Hatter - BatmanTAS

Arkham was such a dreary place, it lacked a lot of things – joy, light, sanity… Well of course, one could always argue that the entire town lacked those three things. Still, this was a new low.

There was a new doctor with newer, stricter methods and the first thing he had done was making sure that those small guilty pleasures the inmates had been partaking in, had been canceled. No more theater ‘group’ with Two-face playing all the roles. Riddler and Scarecrow didn’t get their crossword booklets and chess magazines anymore. Harley Quinn was put on a strict sugar-free diet.

Truly, it was only a matter of time 'till that new doctor was murdered most violently – either that or a mass prison break was imminent.

But until then? Jervis Tetch the Mad Hatter had to do something on his own since, of course, his little tea parties had been on the new doc’s hitlist as well. So, what was a madman supposed to do? Tea obviously was an absolute must! A tea party without tea? That was called a doll-party, not an Unbirthday!

Jervis, who had just snatched a few mugs from the common room, strode up to Riddler, who was in a remarkably bad mood. 

“So?” he asked, making sure that the guards didn’t pay them overly much attention.

“You know, there are better ways to waste my precious time than jury-rigging heating plates,” the other man grumbled.

“Yes, but since you don’t have those crossword mags right now…” Hatter shrugged.

“True enough, it is ready in the broom closet under the staircase, complete with an iron bucked you can cook in, don’t be too surprised if your tea tastes of mop-water though, and try not to electrocute yourself – just a warning – none of the wires are properly isolated or grounded but why do I even bother telling you this?”

“How can I ever thank you enough, Eddie?” Jervis beamed and hoped that no one noticed.

“By not inviting me, ever!” the Riddler grouched before he slunk away muttering something about having to plan a murder.

Strictly spoken, real tea obviously required dried tea leaves, but then there were such concoctions as herbal teas and herbs were far easier to come by. As Pamela Isley was a regular inmate of Arkham Asylum, there were a few non-poisonous plants around. She had even managed to plant a few more ‘outside’ - meaning she had tossed seed, she had found in her food, through the barred windows where they had in several cases sprouted and taken root on the tilted roof.

Jervis had just picked a few leaves off – Pamela would hopefully not notice when she was brought in next time, or mind too much – had stuffed said leaves into his mattress and let them dry for a week.

Sadly, there wouldn’t be cake. Eggs he could have organized from one of the many dove nests, a few apple-slices he’d be able to take from the healthy ‘desserts’ they were served after lunch – thanks again, doc! But there was no sugar, chocolate or honey to sweeten a cake with, and since the ‘incident’ no inmate was anymore allowed even close to fine powdered substances like flour.

Hatter had filled the metal bucket with a little water from the sink in his cell, grabbed the leaves and the mugs, spoken some invitations to some of his fellow inmates – though all seemed to have something else to attend to.

Harleen had asked whether there would be cake and Jervis didn’t have the heart or courage to lie, and so she had also politely declined with: ”$@/&§ it then!”

Now, Hatter sat alone with his tea bucket under the staircase, sometimes holding in his ceramic mug for a refill and savoring the taste of the questionable dry leaves and a decent note of floor cleaner.

That was until the door to his little hiding hole was slammed open. Outside stood two guards, who looked almost apologetic. They knew it was the small things that kept the inmates sane-ish...er but behind them stood the new doc and that guy was practically fuming. Shouting something about his authority being undermined – not that Hatter actually cared, what that guy wanted.

Actually, Hatter had no single care in the world at the moment. There were little fluffy pink clouds everywhere and Alice was winking at him. Maaaaybe Poison Ivy had somehow managed to smuggle in some not so entirely harmless plants?

The doc was shouting some more, Hatter ignored him some more and reached for another refill – no reason to waste the good stuff after all.

Losing his patience, the doc grabbed for the bucket to pull it away…

Huh, the party even had fireworks? This tea party was the best! Hatter giggled manically.

Sparks were flying and the new doc was frying.

And then things went black.

Only much later Tetch woke up in a hospital bed, surprisingly surrounded by dozens of 'get well soon’ and weirdly several ‘congratulations’ cards.

“What an adventure, apparently, but I really could go for a tea now.” He sighed.


	3. Things that go 'ting'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story by WorstCase  
> Featuring: Harley Quinn - BatmanTAS

A girl simply needed her beauty sleep. This was easier said than done, however, when one was an unwilling lodging guest in Arkham Asylum. Nights were rarely ever quiet here.

Sometimes the nights were filled with maniacal laughter – especially when Harley’s Puddin’ was around but that was kind of soothing and led to sweet dreams of Batman in various deathtraps.

Then, there was loud screaming, arguing, fighting or... Killer Crock snoring – and that was something else ‘cause the dude had his personal reinforced cell two floors below and still made the ventilation-shafts rattle in the entire block.

On occasion, that foolish Lumina-something girl could be heard sobbing in the ‘not dark enough for her taste’ darkness, though the medics had done a good job sewing her eyelids back on – speaking of someone being ungrateful.

But tonight, there was nothing of the above. Several of Harleen’s friends and in some cases enemies were not ‘home’ in the first place, so the noise level had been drastically reduced. Nevertheless, Harley found herself burying her head under the too thin pillow of her cot as there was a low ‘tink, tink… tin-tinka-tink’ all few seconds. What the noise didn’t have in volume it sported in sheer annoyance.

With a frustrated sigh, Harley threw the pillow against the bars, got up and checked the sink. But the water tap was shut tight and obviously not the source of the noise. The corridor in front of her cell appeared to be silent as well, which left only the vent system as a possible source.

Yesss! There it was again ‘tink, tinkaling’, Harleen frowned.

Unscrewing the vent cover was pretty easy, so was getting up and inside for an athletic girl like herself. Through the dust and grime, she crawled with sheer determination, to find the source once and for all.

Now, she listened closely, there was another sound, a low shuffling noise as if…

She squeezed to a crossroads in the vent system.

“So, you were the responsible party! Trying to break out or something?” she grumbled but realized her mistake as soon as the other’s eyes went wide in surprise. Her hand shot out to press over Jonathan Crane’s mouth before the man could give a startled cry. He was one of the few male inmates who was scrawny enough to fit in here as well.

“HMMMHMMHMP?” was all he got out.

“Shhhh!” She held her finger to her lips as she removed her hand from Scarecrow’s face.

As soon as he was free to speak, Crane started to huff: “What are you talking about? I was not going to escape! I was looking for the source of that infernal ‘tink, ding, atinkatding’ that has been driving me crazy all night. Should have known it was you! Some sort of prank you are playing on us? Or is this...” He gestured at the claustrophobic vent walls. “...your idea of recreational fun?”

Harley’s angry reply was interrupted by a ‘ting ting ting ding ating kling’ which definitely did not come from either Crane nor her but from the side.

Both villains stared into the dark shaft, then back at each other, then again at the shaft.

“After you.” Scarecrow made a ‘ladies first’ gesture.

After a bit more of crawling, there was finally light at the end of the vent, a glance down showed just another corridor, and Harley was about to remove the vent cover – which was a little trickier from inside, when she heard the faint tingle and steps drawing closer.

There was a guard dutifully patrolling and yes: That noise came from him!

Harleen waited 'till he had passed and gestured to her unexpected partner in crime to get ready, then she removed the screws of the vent cover and patiently waited for the tingling to draw near again.

Whatever the guard may have expected, it surely wasn’t two villains dropping on him from above before being knocked out by the vent cover swung by a sleep deprived Harley Quinn.

“Now, would you believe that?” Crane held the source of the noise up, a metallic hip-flask the guard’s chain of keys had been rattling against with each of the man’s steps. He unscrewed it and sniffed at the liquid sloshing inside. “Whiskey! Drunk on the job! This place has sure gone down the drain, if they hire slobs like him nowadays.”

“Yeah, really that idiot definitely is not fit for this job,” Harleen agreed, then gave the unconscious guard a last kick. She stretched and yawned: “At least we can finally go back to bed now.”

Then she blinked, once then twice.

“Oooor…since we already are out of our cells and have that lovely set of keys and some highly flame-able substance…” She let the unfinished sentence hang in the air and smiled mischievously.

Catching on, Scarecrow began to smirk as well. “Truly, not the most over-planned breakout I have ever been involved in, but who am I to look the gift-horse in the mouth? You wouldn’t know by chance where they keep our costumes?”

“Sure do, I used to work here after all.” Harleen winked. “You know Professor, I have the feeling this will be a night neither of us will ever forget.


	4. Shopping list

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story by temarcia  
> Featuring: Riddler - Batman: Arkham games

Being locked up in Arkham gave you the rare opportunity to fully dedicate yourself to undisturbed thinking – mostly because there simply is nothing else you are allowed to do. 

He had had all the time in the world for planning. Within the first two weeks, he had already had a scheme, all the details after a month, and three months after his incarceration, Riddler was on the lose again – ready to start working.

All he needed were a few simple things like huge metal panels for conducting electrical currents, giant blades, chains strong enough to hold them, 232 meters of wire, bulletproof glass, a 65 ton weight, a crane to place it under the ceiling, and last but not least – a total number of 4,145 screws to put his deadly mousetrap, or should he rather say his 'bat-trap', together. And a power-drill of course. Well, that shouldn't be too hard to get, now should it?

Making himself comfortable in his chair, deep down in the basement of his new lair, Riddler opened a browser window.

“Let's see...floor panels...” He typed the phrase in. It looked like he'd have to order those from San Diego. “Why not...” 

Hacking into the Iceberg Lounge’s website to make an order from there should work just fine. Metal flooring like that shouldn't be too suspicious for a nightclub, right? And Penguin probably wouldn't even notice, if his club had to pay an additional 8,000 dollars for something that they neither needed nor received. And if he did... Well, Ernest Hilt – whoever the poor guy was – would have to explain that to his boss, as the order was made in his name.

With that one taken care of, now, where to order those blades from...

-#-

A dark, gargoyle-like figure stood on the top of the radio tower, looming over the city like a bird of prey.

“Master Bruce,” a thick British accent disturbed the monotonous buzz of the traffic below. “You might want to hear about an information I acquired just a moment ago.”

“What is it, Alfred?”

“I think the Riddler might be up to something.”

Batman shifted his position, searching for the batsignal in the cloudy sky but finding none.

“Did he leave a riddle?”

“No, Sir.”

“Did he hack into the GCPD database again?”

“No, at least not as far as I know.”

“So what is it, then?” He expected the worst but Alfred was as calm as ever.

“I checked the latest invoice from Wayne Enterprises and one particular order caught my attention.” Bruce raised an eyebrow under the cowl, waiting for his butler to continue. “Did the board decide on changing the look of all the offices at Wayne Tower? Or are they planning one of those big corporate retreats with a paintball tournament, by chance?”

“Nothing that I know about. Why are you asking?”

“Because someone from your company ordered 900 liters of green paint to be delivered to the Gotham docks. And we both know, which one of your colorful foes has a habit to paint everything in that color.”

Batman let out a sigh – those themed villains would never learn, would they?


	5. What's a little favor among villains?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story by WorstCase  
> Featuring: The Riddler & The Joker - BatmanTAS

“Good morning Eddie, my boy! I hope you have slept well?”

While Riddler’s head felt like Batman had played soccer with it and everything swam in front of his eyes, the weirdly pitched voice was too characteristic to remain oblivious of who was currently shaking him awake.

What had he been doing? Right, he had been working on the wiring of a trap for Batman, when a vuvuzela had blared right behind him. He had tried to jump to his feet on reflex and hit his head on the metal frame. And had fallen unconscious with the manic laughter of the Joker resounding in his ears.

While waking up in the presence of the crazy clown was really not something he appreciated, it was still better than not waking up anymore at all.

“Very funny, what do you even want of me?” He tested whether he could move but no, he had been tied up by something that looked like festoons but felt as solid as metal bands.

“Oh, Eddie! Could you really have forgotten? Eidetic memory and all? You owe me a favor!” Joker was making himself comfortable on Riddler’s couch. Riddler had apparently been lying on the floor the entire time. At least he was still in his own hideout. He might yet escape this precarious situation, if only he got at… Wait, what favor?

He wouldn’t have forgotten if he owed Joker anything. He had never asked for anyone getting either murdered nor spared, money or any assistance with the Bat. What could the mad clown be on about? Unless it was…

-#-

Three years ago, common room of Arkham Asylum:

“Be so kind, Joker and pass me the remote. I want to watch the evening news.”

“Sure Eddie, but you owe me.”

-#-

Riddler gaped at the old memory, which presented itself as the only occasion. But he also realized, it wouldn’t be of any use to argue with this special headcase.

“Fine! So apparently, I owe you a small favor. What do you want of me, Joker?” He croaked out.

“So glad that you asked, my boy!” Joker jumped up from the couch and unrolled a piece of parchment he had pulled out of his jacket. 

Riddler squinted and let his eyes roam over the building blueprint embellished with drawings of confetti cannons, tiny clown figures that were likely supposed to be positions for minions and a lot of strategically placed explosives. A genius like Edward Nygma didn’t need more than a few seconds to conclude what this meant.

“You are planning to take over the Gotham City Police Department?” he inquired disbelievingly. Then thought about it for a moment. “That plan might actually work, but that brings me back to my question: What do you want of ME?”

If that was even possible, Joker’s grin got even wider. He pointed at a tiny scribble of a winged figure, placed in the middle of the blueprint. 

“Isn’t it obvious? I need someone to play the Toothfairy! And Harley is in Arkham.”


	6. Thug talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story by temarcia  
> Featuring: Joker's thugs - Batman: Arkham games

And here I am, wearing this stupid costume, with both my legs broken thanks to the Bat. I swear this is the last time I worked for the Joker! Penguin's boys are at least getting their share of the loot, and they don't have to dress up as clowns. How did I even get talked into that? Oh, yeah – Josh said we will shoot some cops and it will be fun.

"Hey, Josh! You alive!"

No answer. Just great. Wonder how much fun he is having now, lying under that crate. "Catch, Batman!" he’d said, tossing that thing. What he hadn't known was that the Bat actually would catch it and toss it back. Idiot!

"Benny? Is that you?" Someone calls my name. It's Hank, the medic, dangling from the ceiling like a damn pinata. Batman's rope wrapped around his ankles. "Cut me loose, man! I'm gonna... Uhh, I don't feel so good..."

"I can't! He jumped right on me from the upper floor! I think my legs are broken! Both of them!"

"Can you see the bones sticking out?"

"I don't know, man! I'm too scared to look down!"

"Last time I fought the Bat he broke my leg too," someone else cuts in. The big guy. The one with the rocket launcher, currently trying to dig himself out of a pile of rubble. Did the Batmobile hit the wall right behind him, causing that wall to fall on him? I don't remember it well, the memory of the fight is blurry. I think I'm gonna pass out soon. Again. “It was broken in three different places, and I’m walking with a limp to this day.”

Great, just great! What will my wife say when she sees me limping? “That scar on your ugly mug was not enough for you? Now you also have to walk like a stupid pirate?” I can almost hear her sweet voice in my head. Or wait? Are those sirens? Sounds like police sirens. Finally!

“It looks like we're going back to the GCPD station. I bet, the pigs are gonna laugh at us,” Hank says.

“They always do,” the big guy adds bitterly. Josh is awfully quiet, I think he might be dead. “It's those stupid costumes, ya know. One time Joker told me to dress up as a girl-scout, with grenades instead of cookies.”

“And you did?”

“Well, yeah... You don't argue with the Joker.”

True enough. I really need to get a better job. Once I get out of Blackgate, that is.


	7. Look what the cat found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story by WorstCase  
> Featuring: Catwoman - Batman: Arkham games

Joker collected Baseball cards – it was a surprisingly mundane hobby.

Aside from a countless number of hats and masks, the Hatter had a whole, safely locked wardrobe full of different wigs in his hideout.

Breaking into Poison Ivy’s lair and finding her stash of R-rated tentacle monster movies, made Selina wish for a brain-bleach still two years later. 

Scarecrow, unsurprisingly, had a bunch of surprisingly accurate looking voodoo dolls hanging from the canopy of his bed. Catwoman had removed a few of Batman and his Robins – just in case there were actually genuine locks of hair inside – better not leave any usable samples of DNA evidence behind. Batman should really thank her for all the little things she did for him, not that she was going to tell him ever.

Harley Quinn had several folders with deep psychoanalysis profiles of nearly any masked villain or vigilante in Gotham, hidden behind her bed. It wasn’t all that strange as this had been the job of her choice once, and when every day became a vacation of sorts, some people needed to get serious to relax. 

That didn’t keep Catwoman from taking the folder labeled ‘Selina Kyle’, for reading and burning it later. She also took the one labeled ‘Batman’, though, that one she didn’t burn. Some of the ideas in there actually helped her out to get back on his good side when Batman got too angry about one of Catwoman’s latest stunts. In retaliation, Catwoman had seen to anonymously sending Harley a supply of her favorite chocolate cream truffles to Arkham whenever that happened.

However, the strangest thing she had ever encountered when stealing from other villains?

That questionable award went straight to the Riddler. 

His lairs were always straightforward deathtraps, robots, riddles and so on. But if you wanted to find anything valuable or personal, you'd have to remember that Edward Nygma had started out as an IT-specialist and hack into his computer. Riddler didn’t use it to stash plans or riddle drafts, no, he kept those all safely in his head alone. Nevertheless, it was always fun to get through all those password blocks with riddled hints, and then move some of his savings over to a Swiss number-account and later watch him over the hacked webcam, wracking his brain over who had been outsmarting his security measures.

Anyway, that was all still business. And Riddler’s private little hobby that no one was supposed to know about?

It was called 'Nygmaville' – a bustling little virtual community, ruled by an avatar, that looked like a mini copy of Riddler himself, named Eddie Almighty. Riddler had apparently taken The Sims game and rewritten some of the coding, creating this bizarre life simulator. 

Every time she broke into the system, Catwoman took a moment to look into the game’s progress. She liked taking screenshots occasionally, especially of Eddie Almighty and his loving and doting husbando – Mr. Bat.


	8. Vacation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story by temarcia  
> Featuring: Poison Ivy & Herley Quinn - BatmanTAS

It wasn't supposed to be a heist. After six months inside narrow cells, behind glass like fish in a bowl, after all that time they had to wear those horrible, pale, pajama-like uniforms and use collective showers – the girls really deserved a vacation. And that was why Harl and Red were on that luxury cruise. Not for the money, no. Not even for the sake of any plants. The girls simply needed to relax.

Pamela had kissed a man and the girls were given everything they wanted. The ship had left the Gotham Bay, it wasn't raining for once and the ladies were starting to enjoy themselves. That was until lunchtime...

“Those barbarians...” Pam's hand clenched on the fork. “Don't they serve anything else aside vegetables?”

“Well, it's a salad bar section so...”

The pair of green eyes narrowed dangerously fast and Harley bit her own tongue.

“But you are not going to eat that carrot, aren't you?”

“No, of course not.”

A few consumed vegetables later and Poison Ivy couldn't take it anymore. Who knew that the seeds she had brought with her, just in case, were going to be used so soon?

While the giant vines kept strangling people, Harleen decided that she might as well take their wallets and jewelry – not like those douchebags were going to need those anymore. 

And so the vacation turned into a heist – again. Life was full of surprises when you were a super-criminal.

The panic spread and someone had to have called for help by now. The ship didn't get far from Gotham, so the girls knew all too well who would be on his way to save the day. It was time to leave.

They jumped into one of the lifeboats, Harl cut the ropes and Ivy's plant-baby wrapped its long vines around the boat to gently put it in the water. The people aboard the cruiser were screaming, while the girls were rowing in the general direction of the docks, where they could hide inside one of the empty storehouses. The loot they had collected would easily grant them a nice hotel room later.

“You could at least pretend to help me with this, Red,” Harleen complained, referring to the paddles. “My arms hurt!”

“Oh, don't be a baby. We're almost...”

She had said that too soon.

Something black emerged from under the muddy water – something made of metal, something that looked like... a periscope?

“What the...”

The waves got stronger and their boat rocked violently, there was no way to keep rowing.

“Does the Bat have a batmarine now too!?” Harley squeaked, trying her best not to fall overboard as a big, black machine was slowly emerging directly under the lifeboat. “Oh, who am I kidding... Of course he does!”

The yellow bat symbol on the side of the submarine was all they needed to know.

That had been a very short vacation after all.


	9. Who watches the watchers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story by WorstCase  
> Featuring: The Riddler - Batman: Arkham games

So, it was Arkham – again. Because Batman had cheated at solving his riddles – again. And Riddler needed a new plan to break out – again. Good thing then, that he was full of plans…

‘Luckily’, when Edward was washing off some of the blood and grime from his fistfight with the Bat, there was a minor brawl in the corridor, just in front of the showers. Killer Croc could have picked anyone from the crowd in the corridor for a more or less light beating and the plan would still work the same, but Weylon claimed that Ivy didn’t like that one guy and apparently that was reason enough for Croc to turn Allergent into his personal punching bag.

Killer Croc definitely had a crush on Ivy. Riddler wondered, whether Pamela knew – or cared – but as long as no one asked him for his superior relationship counsel, Edward wouldn’t get involved.

Anyway, respect where respect was due, Weylon timed the incident perfectly and Edward would transfer him a little extra cash for that later.

Among the guards, who had valiantly tried to stop an apparently enraged Killer Croc from turning Allergent into a wet smudge on the wall, was Jefferson Sedgeman. The man was currently lying in the hospital with a serious concussion and wouldn’t miss his smartphone for at least a week.

Edward didn’t even need two minutes to guess Jefferson’s password and now he had a little, functioning if slow computer. It was not a question what Riddler could do with this treasure, it was a question what he would do first.

Wi-Fi was all nice and good, but at the moment it was not the internet that interested him most. The news would only be full of his apprehension at Batman’s hand anyway, and the press neither analog or digital had ever known to appreciate his true genius. Besides, any new photo of him would sport a nasty black eye. Definitely not Riddler’s most glamorous look.

No, the ‘local’ events were far more interesting. It took some tinkering to hack into the asylum’s security system. The camera footage didn’t show many details on this small a display, but that wouldn’t really be necessary. He knew Arkham like the back of his hand.

Three of the guards were playing cards in one of their break rooms. Another three were watching over Ivy, Two-Face, Maxi Zeus, Harleen and Penguin, who were working on various crafting projects in the group therapy room. Another two were standing guard in front of Dr. Zedani’s office, who currently had a therapy session with Victor Zsasz. Riddler was passionately kissing Harley Quinn in Dr. Norton’s office, the warden’s office was currently unoccupied… … …wait, what?

Edward switched back. There was Dr. Norton’s office again – and there was he, the Riddler. Not to forget Harleen, who was also currently in the group therapy room, turning an ugly lump of clay into an even uglier bust of the Joker.

What the hell?

No! One second! The costume was right, there was even the Toy-sledge-hammer leaning at the couch, together with his own iconic question mark cane, but looking closer, Edward could see a few dark locks peeking out from under the woman’s harlequin hood.

That was Dr. Norton! And the man? Was it the Warden?? In Riddler’s own green suit??? There was even still the tear in the sleeve, from where Batman had wrenched Edwards arm earlier today! Oh, this little roleplay was so going into his blackmail folder! The warden wouldn’t even know, what hit him!


	10. Hostage situation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story by temarcia  
> Featuring: The Scarecrow - BatmanTAS

Having a hostage when fighting Batman was always a good backup plan, however, choosing the five-year-old daughter of the minister of education might not have been such a good idea as Scarecrow originally had thought it would be.

"Boss, you sure we can't shoot the brat?"

The kid was crying nonstop for three hours now and the thugs were losing their patience.

"Put some headphones on and keep working!" The Master of Fear grumbled, to be honest, he himself was already tired of the situation.

The child was kept in the storage room, next to his makeshift lab, that way Scarecrow could grab her in case the Caped Crusader showed up earlier than expected. But at the same time, it made Professor Crane's work very difficult. He really didn't need that splitting headache, especially while he was playing with dangerous chemicals. And yet...

The child was crying her eyes out, howling and coughing, throwing some sort of tantrum, and Scarecrow felt like his head was going to explode any moment now.

He imagined strangling the brat, but no, hostages only worked while they were alive.

He had already tried to infect the girl with his infamous fear toxin, just a small dose, and just for fun. That had been a huge mistake... Crying was nothing comparing to the horrible high-pitched shrieks the little lungs were capable of. Never in his life, Scarecrow had been more sorry for not having an antidote for his fear gas on him.

The sound of lament was still coming from the other side of the closed door, it didn't seem to be stopping anytime soon. Professor Crane sighed, it was time to try a different approach.

"I am the Master of Fear! The Harbinger of Horror, the Lord of Despair!” He shouted, slamming the door to the small storage open. “And I command you to stop crying right now!”

The girl looked at his mask, her big eyes full of tears and there was silence for a moment. Then, the moment passed and there was even more crying. 

Normally, Scarecrow would have been happy to make such a scary impression but right now he was tired, so tired of this annoying noise. Perhaps, he was on the wrong path altogether?

“No no, child. That's not what I meant,” he spoke to the girl, his voice much softer and almost soothing. “I meant, there's no need to cry. I'm not gonna hurt you.” That was halfway true, he had no interest in the child, it was the father whom Scarecrow had a problem with. “I would really appreciate it if you just...stopped crying.”

The big, blue eyes were staring at him again. Tears streaming down, falling to the floor and snot hanging from the girl's little nose. Feeling slightly grossed out, Scarecrow checked his pockets for a tissue. But no, nothing but straws. Oh, well. He hoped, he wouldn't catch some kid-transmitted disease when he knelt down, to wipe the tears away with his own sleeve.

“There, there.” He patted the child's head awkwardly. “No crying from now on, OK?”

The way the girl's lips trembled was telling him that it wouldn't be that easy.

“How about uncle Scarecrow reads you a fairytale, hmm?"

The child nodded and Professor Crane finally felt relieved.

Soon enough, the kid was lulled, sleeping in the storage-room, wrapped in a blanket – quiet and calm like a little angel. The silence had never sounded better.

Reading the 'Act on the Education System' to the five-years-old was all that Scarecrow had needed to do, to make that miracle happen. But if any of his men asked, he would say, he had chloroformed the brat. He had a reputation to maintain, after all, he was the Master of Fear.

People tended to forget that he also was a teacher.


	11. Lights out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story by WorstCase  
> Featuring: Riddler/Batgirl - DC Comics "Preludes to the Wedding"

Riddler had planned it all.

Batman was out of town with the Justice League – fighting an alien starfish, if the rumors were to be believed. Most of the other villains were either currently locked up in Arkham or still in the middle of plotting their plots of doom™. So, the night was all his and Riddler had planned it in all the details.

He had donned his very best suit and, even if he said so himself, he was looking dapper. He was also wearing a gumshield since he really didn’t want to risk something as undignified as losing a tooth – not on an important night like this one.

The riddle he had sent to the GCPD wasn’t too difficult:  
“Come rescue me, if you are bold. My eyes are green, so I've been told.  
A walk I'll take in the park, come join me there once it’s dark.”

With that part done, Riddler had broken into a China-themed exhibition and stolen a set of really classy, antique, jade earrings, called the “Cat’s Eyes” due to their vivid color.

The only thing left for him to do was making his escape through the Robinson Park and hope that a certain vigilante-ss had gotten the hint.

Edward might have underestimated Batgirl a little. Had the riddle maybe been a tad too easy?

In less than fifteen minutes the whole “chase” was over and he found himself cuffed to Batgirl while they were waiting for a secured police-transport from Arkham to arrive.

To his complete astonish-and-bafflement the young vigilantess was not even contemplating to try the earrings on. This toppled everything Riddler knew about female behavior – Query and Echo definitely never were able to wait with putting stolen jewelry on.

After all the trouble he had gone through to acquire this gift especially for her, matching them to her pretty eye-color and all… Batgirl could at least try them on. Or maybe…

“Will you stop leaning in that much?” Batgirl demanded, shoving his face out of her personal space.

Well, he had just wanted to double check whether she actually had punctured earlobes, because that would have been the only explanation he could think of. But no, Batgirl had punctures. So what else could possibly be amiss?

Suddenly, the streetlight above them went dark. As did every other streetlamp down the road, all the neon signs and also all the windows.

“Riddler! What did you set off now?” Batgirl had grasped him by the collar of his fancy jacket and was lightly shaking him.

He couldn’t help but smile charmingly. Good thing he had already lost the gumshield during the fight earlier. “Oh, this is so not my style, sweetheart. Had I planned this blackout, it would have been more spectacular. I mean see for yourself the lights are still on everywhere but here at Robinson park district, had I done this the blackout would have been citywide, and the only buildings still alight shaping out a riddle. Besides this annoying situation is rather contra-productive to my plans for …”

“AHHHH! HEEEEELP!!!!” A panicked woman’s voice sounded from deeper in the normally quite romantic park, Riddler had picked for meeting Batgirl tonight.

“I just knew it,” Edward grumbled. “Turn off the lights and every small mugger comes crawling out of their holes.”

Batgirl looked at him, looked at the cuffs and last calculatingly at the dark lamppost.

Edward shook his head. “I know what you are thinking, that won’t work, as soon as you leave me out of your sight, I'll slip out of those cuffs and run. Of course, we can wait here for the armored transport, but with the gangs likely starting to riot about now, the first scavengers looting the mall near the park and the 75% chance of a major car-crash and resulting traffic jam at 5th and oaks –thanks to the snuffed-out traffic lights, they’ll likely be here in about four houeeerrss....”

Edward had been in no way prepared for Batgirl suddenly moving and dragging him with her towards where the call for help had come from and struggled to keep up.

The scene was typical – a young lady, clutching a can of mace and threatening a gang of five street-bullies armed with knives and baseball bats, while the lady’s spineless boyfriend was halfway out of the park and likely out of the state within the next five minutes if he kept running like that.

“Hands up and surrender!” Batgirl demanded. Well, that attempt was as efficient as to be expected – Batman usually didn’t give any warnings, maybe the girl just wanted to avoid a fight while half cuffed? Riddler wasn’t sure. Anyway, the biggest of the lot, likely the leader of the gang turned around, let his gaze sweep over Riddler’s date in a rather insulting manner in Edward’s opinion. And then started to laugh mockingly.

“Yeah, sure we will surrender to some hot babe cuffed to some loser who is cosplaying as an even bigger lo…”

The thug was interrupted by a baterang and a metallic question mark colliding violently with his face and knocking him flat.

Batgirl glared at Riddler: “Where did you even hide that one?”

“I call them questerangs and you can search me for weapons again any time to answer that question,” Riddler replied smartly while smacking a knife away from his neck.

Batgirl, busy to beat a thug with his own baseball-bat, looked pretty when she angrily retorted: “I really can’t leave you out of my sight for a second, can I?”

“I sure hope so, sweetheart.” Riddler purred. He loved the attention after all.

A kick to another thug’s stomach and a fist to the last one’s windpipe and the whole gang was rolling around in the dirt, groaning and moaning as if they were about to die – Sissies! Riddler was just about to make a suggestion as of how to continue the young night, as a fire siren went off nearby.

“Oh, looks like that’s the fancy Italian restaurant at Hendersons-crossing,” he commented. “With all the olive oil they cook with, it’ll burn to the ground before the firefighters will even reach this block.”

This time he was prepared for the tug as Batgirl set off, though he had still some trouble keeping up as she dragged him along.

But first a dance and now a candlelight dinner? This evening was getting better and better!


	12. Tuesday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story by WorstCase  
> Featuring: Harley Quinn - BatmanTAS

There was a little skip in Harleen’s steps as she walked down the corridor between the cells, flanked by two female Arkham guards. She gave some of her friends a cheery wave.

It was group therapy Tuesday. Harleen liked group therapy, though, she hoped that Maxi Zeus wasn’t there today, he was a terrible braggart and worse, he was boring.

She wondered briefly who would actually show up. Two-Face and Ventriloquist plus Scarface would likely attend. Mr. Freeze maybe, though, she had heard he was over at some sort of research center right now. Well, someone else had to be there, the doctors didn’t start a group therapy for less than four people after all.

The door to the room opened and aside from a few more or less bored-looking guards lining the walls, there were Harvey, Arnold and his doll, and Jervis Tetch the Mad Hatter.

Jervis' face lit up when he saw her: “Alice, my dear! So glad you could come to our tea-party!”

“How is this supposed to be a party, you looser?” Scarface replied annoyed. “There is not even tea – or are we supposed to pretend we drink from non-existing cups, you delusional dork?”

“Says the right one,” Two-Face commented with a snicker. It was a bit hard to tell which one of his two personalities was currently in charge. Not that it mattered to Wesker, Scarface turned around and glared at Harvey with his adorably creepy doll eyes.

“What is so funny, you dolt? You got a gone to pick with me?!” The doll snarled, ready to hurl its fists at the ex-attorney.

“Please Mr. Scarface, calm down! Think about the guards! You can’t start a brawl in here!” Wesker gasped out, only for Scarface to now turn on him.

“And who’s fault is it that we are in here right now, you useless trashgag? If you hadn’t crashed our damn getaway car into a fire hydrant, the god damn Gat would have never caught us!” The puppet smacked Wesker over the head with his tiny wooden fist.

A mild voice chided: “Now now! This brutality stops at once!” The elderly Dr. Zedani had entered, balancing a small tray with…

“Cake!” Harleen squealed.

“Tea!” Jervis beamed.

“I had hoped this would be a more relaxed session today than last time,” the old doctor put the tray down on a small plastic table to the side. “Now, how did that dispute of yours get started?”

“Harvey and Scarface are arguing about who is the top dog here, again.” Harleen snickered, while Jervis served her a cup of tea and a big slice of chocolate tart with a courteous smile.

“What!? I would never consider a mere log my rival!” Harvey protested at once.

“Don’t compare me to a so-called mob-leader who doesn’t even have any respect for himself 50% of the time!” Scarface also vetoed the mere idea.

“I see, I see,” Dr. Zedani mused for a moment, taking a sip from his own teacup. “If you don’t consider each other rivals, then there should be no problem for you two to get along either. So how about you prove it and give each other a hug?”

“What? No!” Scarface protested.

“A what now?” Two-Face asked startled.

“A hug,” Dr. Zedani repeated. “Really, it is the easiest thing in the world. Harleen, Jervis, would you two show our friends how easy it is?”

“Sure!” Harley nodded, stood up from her stool and opened her arms wide with a smile.

Jervis, however, froze in position and looked more like a startled bunny than a Hatter at that moment.

“Awww. You don’t want to hug me?” Harleen pouted.

“I would love to, but… Joker would slaughter me.” Jervis shook his head violently and made a few steps back, stumbling over his own stool.

“Harvey, surely you are not too afraid of the Joker to give miss Harleen a friendly hug?” Dr. Zedani requested.

“Indeed, I don’t care what the Joker would think.” Harvey shook his head but did not make any move to rise from his chair to embrace Harley Quinn. “However, I do care what Poison Ivy would think. So, no; thanks but no.”

“Move aside and see how a real man handles this.” A very reluctant Wesker held a very eager Scarface in front of him.

“Oh, this is such a bad idea,” the Ventriloquist whispered with dread, as the doll flung forward to bury its face in the neckline of Harleen’s Arkham uniform. 

“You sure are my type, gage, forget agout the clown and gecome my plaything.”

Harleen turned her head towards Dr. Zedani with a smile that was now somehow frozen.

“You know what, this tea-party really lacks... A fireplace with a nice, crackling fire would improve it, and a log has just volunteered itself for burning!” The blonde started cackling manically, Wesker’s wrist in a sudden iron grip and a lighter pulled out from nowhere.

Dr. Zedani had gone pale. “Guards!”

So much for a nice, relaxed group therapy Tuesday...


	13. Dress code

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story by temarcia  
> Featuring: The Riddler & The Joker - BatmanTAS

"You can't do this to me!" The Riddler waves his hands in exasperation worthy of a better cause. "You can't wear this for a heist! For our collaborative heist! I didn't sign up for that!"

“Relax. It's just a shirt,” Joker shrugs while staring at his own reflection in the mirror. He does not see the problem. “And not a cheap one, you know. It's silk. Handmade. Go ahead, touch it.” He turns around like a model on the catwalk, he is perfectly well-dressed: a shirt, a vest, a tie; and he looks undeniably elegant.

Riddler, however, does not approve.

“That's not the point!” The man hisses but he does get closer to the other as if tempted to really touch the material. “Well, it is a fancy one, I admit – but that's not the point! The point is – it's green!”

“So?”

“Green is my theme color! MINE! Only I get to wear it!”

Joker looks at his current partner in crime, Riddler is wearing a green suit and he is pretty furious. The clown turns to the mirror again, ignoring the unnecessary fuzz.

“Haven’t you noticed? I like green too.” He points at his hair – slick and glossy. “Besides,” he adds totally unfazed, “we will look like a team! That's good for a shared heist.”

“That's good for goons!” Riddler roars.

Joker rolls his eyes. “You're overreacting. Do I ask you to change because you put on a purple tie? No! And you know how I feel about that color.”

“That's totally different!”

“No, it isn't!”

Riddler growls in frustration, he is so funny when enraged. Words are apparently not enough to express his feelings at this point. He starts to pace up and down, making Joker giggle.

“Look,” Edward tries again, this time with a different approach. “Keep the shirt, just put on some coat or a jacket. One that isn't green.”

The clown thinks about it for a second.

“I'll lend you one!” Riddler quickly offers before the other can decline. “Heck, I'll gift you one. Just put it over that shirt, please!”

“Hmm... I don't know, Eddie... You were right from the start. The way we dress for the heist is kinda important, I can see that now.” He poses himself in front of the mirror and fakes a kissy face. “And I like how I look in that. Bats will appreciate the style.”

Nygma's angry face reflects in the mirror right next to the Joker's, and judging by the look on it, Riddler is about to snap.

Joker has seen the other rogue losing it before – that had always been a loud and verbal but quite colorful spectacle. His memory drifts to that one night at the asylum when he had told Eddie that the evening news had confused the two of them. Riddler had been screaming his lungs out. Nobody had gotten any sleep that night, and that had just been a joke. Good times!

"That's it!" The high-pitched voice snaps the clown out of his happy flashback. “You're not going to out-green me in front of Batman! Take it off!” Riddler shouts and his hands are already on Joker, furiously unbuttoning his fancy, green shirt.

“You gotta be kidding me!” The Clown Prince of Crime snarls and pushes the other away, or at least intends to. Eddie clutches at his shirt like a god-damn leech and as the two of them struggle, the poor buttons give way – flying into the air like shooting stars.

Riddler stumbles back and has to catch himself not to fall. Panting heavily, he stares at the Joker who is looking down at the ruined outfit in disbelief. When he finally raises his gaze to catch Edward's eyes, there is nothing joyful in them.

“You little...”

“That was an accident...” The man in green takes a shaky step back but there is nowhere to run – not anymore.

-#-

Batman has seen plenty of crazy during his many years as the hero of Gotham. He has seen laughing fish, flying Christmas trees, exploding pumpkins and killing dolls. He's seen men coming back to life, a man turning into clay, into a bat, into an orca even...

Gotham had a lot of madness to offer, but tonight it was the first time the Dark Knight has the doubtful privilege to witness not one, but TWO of his notorious adversaries taking over the Fashion Week Gala – both of them shamelessly shirtless.


	14. Trust me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story by WorstCase  
> Featuring: The Mad Hatter - BatmanTAS  
> We hope everyone had a Merry Christmas!

Usually, a good old-fashioned heist went down the drain only once Batman finally showed up. Well, Batman or at least the bumbling and trigger-happy Gotham city police force.

This one had self-destructed spectacularly on its own, without anyone even noticing that a heist was going on, which was no surprise with all the fire and the panic.

The plan had been pretty simple yet elegant, first – taking over the catering staff for the gala dinner aboard the Queen of Hearts, then – letting them rob the rich guests when dinner was served.

Jervis Tetch sighed as he adjusted his top hat: “Note to self: Do not mind-control personnel that is supposed to handle a gas stove.”

When the overall panic had set in, Hatter’s control over the catering staff had broken. Apparently, dying by fire was a fear deeply rooted enough to prioritize basic self-preservation instincts. Or maybe, when the guests were running, the catering staff had followed to rob them?

Jervis wished he could discuss that with Scarecrow, maybe they could do some tests together at some point? That was – if Hatter survived this whole ordeal. And it was a big “if”.

Unfortunately, he had gotten in the way of the passenger stampede, run over and forgotten during the evacuation. Now, everything was filled with thick black smoke – he could barely see his own hands. The metal walls had heated up significantly, and his best idea was to try to get upstairs to reach the top deck. 

The smoke was getting thicker and thicker, biting in his eyes, scratching in his throat. Merely touching the hot walls for orientation was blistering the skin on his searching fingers. The heat of the air was making it hard to think. Hatter stumbled forward until he reached the end. 

A door, a closed door that didn’t budge as he threw his entire body weight against it. And just behind the slab of glass rattling in the too small porthole, he could see the light of the moon.

In sheer despair, he hammered at the door. Nothing.

He sank to his knees, coughing. So that was how he would die? Alone and forgotten? At least, it would be at the hands of the enraged Queen of Hearts – that suited him.

His sad musings were interrupted by a noise – it sounded like hasty steps coming closer. Maybe it was the reaper coming for him? Because, who else was still aboard this ship?

Stricken by irrational fear, he pressed his back against the door and Jervis could feel its singing metal even through his jacket.

The steps drew closer and a shade emerged from the smoke. It looked all kinds of wrong, with a disproportional big head and hands. Jervis lifted his arms to shield his face from an attack, as the monstrosity bent over him.

But the expected blow never came, instead, a damp piece of cloth was pressed into his hands.

“Wrap this around your head and face.” The voice of the creature was rough and it sounded hoarse but Hatter could swear he had heard it before.

Without questioning, he did as he was told.

The being rattled at the door, he hadn’t been able to open.

“Looks like the heat has deformed it. The way the smoke accumulates here, there is no open hatches nearby. We need to reach one of the exits on the other side of the ship, away from the fire’s source.”

Hands wrapped in more thick cloth pulled Hatter up to his feet, and as he barely stumbled, limb from exhaustion, he was lifted into a carry. When the other started running and all Jervis could do was holding on.

His hands still hurt but he could feel the other was wearing something made of soft and silky, probably expensive cloth. A tuxedo? One of the guests from the party? But that didn’t explain anything! Why would any of them go searching for him? How had they even known he was here And how was any member of Gotham’s spoiled high society this strong?

The heat was lessening, not so the smoke that still tried to suffocate them both. Jervis didn’t know, how the man was even able to orient himself and at this speed – as if he simply knew which way to go and didn’t need to see his path with mere eyes. 

Finally, after Jervis had lost all count of time, there was a pale spot of light shining through the smoke – another porthole, another closed door. 

The man carrying him didn’t even slow down, he just shifted Hatter’s weight in his arms and threw himself shoulder first into the obstacle, as if he had done so a million times before. 

They were out! Finally!

Hatter greedily drew in the fresh night air.

Behind them the ship burned, in front of them was only the rail and deep, deep below the pitch-black surface of the water. 

The Queen of Hearts was anchored in the Gotham harbor bay, the lights of the city shone in the distance.

“Our only chance is to jump,” the other said. How could he be this calm in such a situation? “Trust me.”

And Hatter closed his eyes and laughed, because he finally understood.

As they both flew over the rail, he reached for the piece of cloth wrapped around the other man’s head.

Jervis lost consciousness when they hit the water but he wouldn’t let go.

-#-

“What is first red like a lobster then wet like a fish and finally wears bandages like a mummy?” An annoying but at the same time welcome voice asked.

“Hello Riddler,” Jervis croaked, his voice still hoarse from the smoke he had inhaled.

The hospital rooms in Arkham’s medical wing weren’t exactly his favorite place to be, but everything was nicer when he had a guest.

“I can imagine what I look like right now, thank you.”

“And I can’t wait to hear what went wrong this time,” Nygma chuckled. “Heard they found you half dead at the harbor when that big cruise liner went ablaze...holding on to a dirty towel?” The Riddler stared at the piece of cloth Hatter was still clutching with white knuckles. “I also heard you bit a medic when they tried to take it away from you. Why is it so important?”

Hatter allowed himself a smile. “I have a riddle there for you: What doesn’t look like a bat, doesn’t sound like a bat but acts like a bat?”

“What?” Riddler looked completely dumbfounded.

“It is a bat with a towel on its head,” Jervis chuckled.

“Seriously? That doesn’t even make sense, Jervis, that’s the worst riddle ever. See if I visit you next time when you land yourself here. At least you must feel better if you already start talking nonsense.” Nygma pouted.

Jervis just tucked the towel away safely and chuckled some more.


	15. You're safe now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story by temarcia  
> Featuring: Batman & Riddler - DC Comics  
> Dedication: For Queen_in_the_North, who gave me this prompt. Thank you for all the request you've taken, dear!

"Turn it off!" The Dark Knight says, voice dangerously low and demanding. And Edward shivers. No one talks to him like that – not when it is HIM who is in control.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, now can I?" He shrugs. "She gave me the wrong answer, she deserves to die."

The wheel keeps spinning, it's 7 G now – a bit more than a roller-coaster but the Riddler can easily change that with a single click on his keyboard. 8 G and it will be like inside a speeding jet, just the woman has no pilot training. But then again, who cares about some single mother, too stupid to answer the simplest of riddles.

Well, Batman does of course. Edwards smiles to that thought. So predictable...

"It is you who gave me the wrong answer, Nygma. Let's try again," Batman takes a step forward.

Riddler doesn't flinch, confident, his finger on the keyboard.

"Let the hostage go and maybe, just maybe, I'm not gonna hurt you."

He thinks about that option for a split second. Something about that voice, that pose, that whole self-assured, self-righteous demeanor of the man in the Bat-suit makes him want to obey. It's so irritating! But of course, Riddler can't do that, it's against his rules. The rules he set himself, for everyone in this room.

"Is that your final offer?” He mocks, the smirk never leaving his face. “I let her go and you don't beat me to a bloody pulp, just send me back to Arkham where they’ll beat me to a bloody pulp? Even a narrow-minded brute like yourself should see why I have to decline. Arkham is not safe anymore. Especially not for me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ah, nothing really,” he tries to brush it off but what was said, can't be unsaid. Batman isn't stupid, he knows what kind of enemies Riddler has made recently.

“Is that your idea of asking for help? Kidnapping innocent people? Torturing them? Luring me into yet another deathtrap?”

“I don't want your...”

“Enough talking! Turn the machine off. Now!” The Bat is at his limit, fists clenched and not looking at Riddler anymore – he's looking at the hostage who has apparently fainted.

Edward can't take this lack of attention, he is about to snap. What does it matter if one, average woman dies tonight!?

Then, Batman turns to him again, catching Riddler off guard. “Let her go and come with me, it doesn't have to be Arkham.”

“Oh?”

Not knowing why, he clicks the key and the machine responds: 6 G, 5 G. It's getting slower and slower and the spinning finally stops. The woman in the cockpit is unconscious, or maybe she's already dead? Riddler doesn't care.

Within a moment, Batman is reaching out with his muscular arm to grab him. He's close, too close! Acting on impulse, Riddler clicks another button and the trap door in the floor-panel opens.

The Bat falls down. Edward doesn't wait to see the result, he jumps to his feet and runs.

A grappling hook shoots out of the pit and Batman is free, flying across the room right into Riddler's direction. In no time, his heavy boots connect with the man's back, knocking Edward down, just like a hurricane does to weak trees.

The ground is stone-hard but it's not over yet. Riddler feels Batman's hand grabbing him by the collar of his expensive shirt. He's being pulled up, turned around. He can look the Bat in the face. The black, scary mask covers the man's eyes but still, the expression is telling.

The Dark Knight says nothing, just punches him in the face. His fist alone seems to be screaming 'Wrong choice!'.

“You’re safe now.”

He can hear Batman from where he's lying, on the floor, covered with dust and his own blood. And the Bat is talking to the hostage, of course.


	16. Of Art and Kites

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story by WorstCase  
> Featuring: Kite man - DC Comics  
> Happy New Year everybody!

Flying through the brightly lit canyons of Gotham’s streets at night was simply the best! You were far above all that noise, the exhaust from the cars and everyone else looked small and insignificant. It was almost a shame to interrupt the flight to break into some art gallery. Even if it only took a few minutes to cut those abstract paintings out of their frames, it felt like wasted time.

He wasn’t even sure why the paintings were supposed to be precious. Picasso – sure, that man had had a vision, his paintings were pure emotion depicted. But these? These paintings looked like someone had tied a brush to a Roomba and let it waltz over the canvas or as if a failed engineer had sold off some of his rejected patent blueprints as art. In one case, he wasn’t even sure whether he had accidentally taken the fire evacuation plan.

Really, Kite man usually had better taste.

Well, he wanted to try a new nylon material for his kites and the fiber didn’t pay itself. And the only redeeming quality of the pictures was that they wouldn’t weigh him and his kite down.

He loved testing new kites! This heist had only been possible thanks to a set of suction cups attached to his new toy, which allowed him to anchor and land his kite vertically on the huge glass windows of the skyscrapers. Then, he had used a glass cutter to make his way in, avoiding the gazillion sensors of the security system – all geared on catching intruders coming in through the doors or balconies.

Really, this heist was all too easy. 

With a smirk, he turned to leave the same way he had come.

He was just in time to see how a strong gust of wind ripped his kite away from the glass, and how the kite tumbled away in the darkness without him.

“Rats!”

If he left through the door now, the security guards would tackle him before he’d even reach the elevator.

He sighed.

On the other hand, there had been a fridge in the gallery. Maybe there was still some champagne and caviar left from the grand opening vernissage they had held yesterday?

If he was going to be arrested anyway, he could at least have a little private party until someone found him in the morning.


	17. Humanly stupid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story by temarcia  
> Featuring: Poison Ivy & Riddler - BatmanTAS

"Human beings are so stupid!" Pamela huffed with sheer frustration. She threw the remote control across the rec-room and it hit the TV screen squarely.

A pair of guards was about to interfere, but thankfully the monitor didn't break. The handsome news presenter kept on talking about the recent events while Poison Ivy sat down with her arms crossed. Hearing about the wildfires devouring forests near Gotham made her almost forget about her newly obtained rec-room privilege for good behavior. There was no point in throwing that away by acting on emotion, but seriously... How brainless had those meat-bags to be, to go camping and carelessly start a fire during a season of droughts?! Why did those over-evolved monkeys have to be so dumb?

“Tell me about it...” A voice came from behind her, she turned around to see who the hell just agreed with her unpopular opinion.

When her eyes met the individual's face, Pam narrowed them at once. Nygma was definitely not the kind of company she'd appreciated.

“Your point?”

“Same as yours, I believe.” The man shrugged, casually leaning on the sofa's back, his head above Ivy's.

He seemed to be watching the TV too but not daring to join her on the couch. “Human beings ARE stupid,” he continued, his tone filled with certainty and just a hint of loathing. “Their narrow minds are incapable of achieving anything other than the simplest of ways to fulfill their basic needs. Put a real challenge in front of them and voila – you have their animalistic instincts taking over as a result of lacking the ability to use their brains to actually THINK! The majority of the human race won't even bother to consider that a problem! Oh, no – they would rather say it's a waste of time to exercise their brains when they can sleep, eat, and fuck without ever asking themselves 'where does that take us as a species'. Where indeed, if not to total degeneration? A society of lazy, uncreative and dull living human-shells with no intent for improvement. A society in which a person who shows the signs of intelligence and the will to prove it, is instantly labeled as a mentally ill outcast! This is where it is all going!”

Nygma's rant went on for a whole minute and Pamela found herself actually able to relate to some of his thesis, however, there was one small flaw in his reasoning...

“Edward,” she spoke when he seemed to have finished, “you ARE a human being too, you know that?”

The look on his face – it was almost as if Ivy had slapped him.

“Don't compare me to the rest of those...those simpletons!” He fumed. “I am not like them, I am a true genius, a pearl cast before swine!”

“And you are telling me this because...?” Her patience was running short.

“Because, I thought someone like yourself, could at least understand how it is to be not like everyone else,” Edward declared dramatically and straightened up, now apparently offended. “But I see that even half-human beings can be quite humanly stupid.”

Ivy's lips tightened as a pang of anger stung her half-human heart at that insult.

“Then why bother talking to me, Nygma? Oh wait, I know why,” her annoyed tone of voice suddenly shifted to a mocking one. “Because no one in this room can stand your constant chatter, and the only person who can, is currently in solitary confinement.”

Her lips curled into a cruel smirk as she watched the jab sink in. Nygma looked torn between snapping at her, and possibly causing the guards to react, or walking away to whatever sad and lonely corner he had crawled out from.

“That has nothing to do with anything at all,” he finally hissed, leaning too close to her ear for this to be comfortable. “You're just projecting your own problems on me since your only human friend left you here and ran off with the Joker. Again.”

By now, anger was boiling inside her veins, making her imagine all the things she would do to him, if only she had her plant-babies with her. She could strangle him with the vines, crush his bones, whip his sorry ass, or she could simply give him a toxic kiss and make him take those words back.

She could do whatever she wanted because he was just a human and she was a true goddess.

“Just go away, Edward, before I dig my fingernails into that pretty face of yours.”

He took a step back from the couch and it seemed he would really obey, but when Pamela thought just that, Nygma turned to her once more, his expression somewhat changed.

“Wait, you think I have a pretty face,” he mumbled sheepishly, blushing bright red.

Ivy rolled her eyes. Men – such vain, insecure creatures, clinging onto any scrap of compliment to boost their fragile ego as if their dear life depended on it.

“Well, if one likes gingers,” she offered, trying to sound serious about it. At this point she knew, Edward would only hear what he wanted to hear. And he called himself a genius? Oh, please...

“I-I like gingers... I mean... You're a ginger yourself.”

“Oh, you noticed?” She ran her fingers through her hair and she caught him staring.

A plan started to sprout inside her head and this new development could be very useful. She tapped her hand on the couch, inviting Riddler to sit next to her. The man didn't think twice to take that invitation.

“Say,” she lowered her voice, making sure, no one but him could hear her, “if you were me, how would you escape from here? Let's say, during the next few days.”

“Well, you would obviously need a plan,” he whispered eagerly, his green eyes locked with hers. “A very clever one. One that includes being on the group therapy session on Tuesday, convincing Killer Croc to help you, then stealing a key-card from officer Cash, getting access to the kitchen...”

She gave him one of her sweetest smiles as he kept talking.

“Go on, Eddie. I'm all ears.”

Like a plant needing water – he needed attention, she mused.


	18. Second opinion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story by WorstCase  
> Featuring: Scarecrow & Riddler - Batman: Arkham games

Watching Riddler work on his robots had something soothing – almost hypnotic. 

Scarecrow sat reclined in the chair near the worktable and observed how the slim fingers danced over cables, diodes, and capacitors.

“That man is a complete idiot!”

Even the constant stream of low, angry muttering was somehow pleasant. And Nigma didn’t seem to expect his visitor to say anything, just for Crane to listen quietly to him ranting.

“A fool, and worse, a delusional fool,” the man in green kept rambling. “Sitting there in his chair while he was talking and talking and talking...”

The word “talking” was emphasized every time with an angry slam of a small hammer to a piece of plating that wasn’t sinking into its designated space willingly.

“First, he started with the riddle I left for the museum heist, then the one I left when I broke out of Arkham…”

An additional circuit board was shoved into the construct and wired up.

“… he pointed out how fast Batman managed to solve them and went on about all of my traps the police has dismantled in the last three years.” 

Riddler threw up both hands in frustration. “He had the very nerve to tell me that _'A man who does the same thing 100 times with the exact same result and expects a different result the 101st time, is called crazy.'_ !”

At this point, Nigma slammed the screwdriver he was holding, into a photo of Arkham’s newest doctor which was pinned up over his workbench and already sported several holes.

“ _'When will you accept that you are crazy, Edward?'_ he asked me to my very face! Would you believe that arrogance, that impertinence?!”

“Really?” Scarecrow feigned disbelieve. “That man doesn’t know what he is saying. It is obvious that you are a genius,” he commented drily. “So, what is your plan now?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’ll send this robot over to kill him – if he can’t answer my riddle, that is. But there is no chance in hell he’ll be able to do that.”

Nigma inhaled deeply and recited:

“At least two-hundred is a must, in 1,000 more I rather trust, what am I?”

Before Scarecrow had the chance to make a guess, Riddler already continued with his ramble.

“And since that dolt has obviously never heard of the ‘scientific approach’, ‘statistics’ or ‘empiric evidence’, he is already history.” 

Edward pulled his hand in a telling ‘head off’ gesture over his throat, before he fastened a wicked looking blade to the robot’s arm.

“And after that, I can finally turn my full attention to defeating Batman,” he chuckled darkly. “I’ll show the world how sane I am!”

Scarecrow didn't care to comment.


	19. Clueless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story by WorstCase  
> Featuring: Scarecrow & Riddler (Scriddler hints) - Batman: Arkham games  
> This one is loosely connected with the previous chapter.

For some reason, Scarecrow really enjoyed watching Riddler work and psychoanalyzing Nigma on the side. It took Doctor Crane a while to realize though, that this little habit had become his new hobby.

Actually, it took him until the day Riddler hadn’t been in his workshop, working, when Scarecrow had come looking for him under the pretext of discussing some ‘kill the Bat’-scheme.

Fact was, he had searched half of Gotham for the other man, gotten into a fight with some of Two-Face’s goons, the police, and almost been caught by Batman.

Scarecrow hadn’t found Riddler that night. Neither did he find him the next nor several other nights following.

He had a thug observe Nigma’s workshop in case he came back. He checked every newspaper, every hospital and put the fear of the elder gods into any street informant he could get his needles on.

All that time he wondered whether Nigma had mentioned something about whatever he had been planning and Crane had just blocked him out automatically, like he did with most of the man’s egocentric rambling. But no, there hadn’t even been a clue, neither for him nor for the Bat. Scarecrow had come this close to abducting a hacker to get him into agent Waller’s “top-secret” Suicide Squad roster files (seriously, absolutely everyone at Arkham had heard of her little illegal-exploitation-of-prisoners program by now). He had literally waited for his prey to come answer the door when his henchman had ringed him up – the one guarding Riddler’s workshop.

Crane had arrived just in time to see Nigma leaving the place with a bag of tools under the arm. Scarecrow wasn’t sure why he didn’t swoop in at that moment and just gave Riddler a serious beating but instead followed the man silently through the dark alleys. It was likely just a case of mild curiosity – he could punish Riddler for causing him all that hassle after finding out what Nigma had secretly been doing the last week.

Two blocks away from his workshop, Riddler climbed into a nondescript – likely stolen – old car with fake number plates.

Luckily, Scarecrow was able to call the henchman who had observed the workshop to bring over his car before Riddler had the tool-bag stored away and been completely out of sight.

Nigma may have been a genius with an eidetic memory but he sure was a complete amateur at spotting pursuers. That spared Crane at least the trouble of changing the car several times, for Riddler drove on until he had left the city center behind, and even crossed the outskirts without indication that he was getting near his destination.

They were about 20 minutes out of the city when Nigma finally slowed and pulled the car into a pothole infested side road. Snapped off branches of the overhanging trees and bushes indicated that this road had seen some use pretty recently, likely by something a bit bigger than just a standard car.

Scarecrow ordered the thug to wait, as he went to investigate. Behind a rusty old wire mesh fence were two mottled, low buildings. What did Riddler want here of all places?

One of the two buildings showed some recent signs of repair. Well, if one could call plastic sheets replacing broken windows and a transportable generator for electricity repairs. Once inside, everything smelled of paint, and yes – there were equations and construction plans scribbled all over every even surface. Typical.

It should have been difficult to sneak up on the infamous Riddler, it really should have been. But Scarecrow was able to just walk in, observe how Nigma was opening crates and welding metal parts together into some huge, amorphous lump in the middle of the hall, and didn’t even see so much as a guard or tripwire.

Riddler was distracted.

It was almost a little insulting but Crane had just sat down on a crate waiting and listening to Edward’s aimless rambling about Batman and other ignorant fools. And while he was waiting, the Master of Fear...simply fell asleep.

He was startled awake by the clatter of a falling wrench followed by an indignant yelp.

“What the hell are you doing here?!”

He sleepily blinked at Riddler, who finally had realized that he had company. How late was it even?

“I followed you, obviously. So, what are _you_ doing here?”

Nigma didn’t even listen that far. “You followed me? How could you follow me? I have taken every security measure...”

“Security measures? You mean the fake number plates on the car?” Scarecrow scoffed. “Batman could have followed you here, Robin could have followed you here, that fat pig Bullock could have followed you here. Damn! Any parking meter attendant could have followed you here and you don’t even have a single deathtrap or guard robot in this place! You should be ashamed...but obviously you're not. So? Care to tell me what on Earth had you this distracted?”

Under the grease smudges on Nigma’s face, Crane could actually see that the other was blushing a little.

“Batman… … …” he mumbled something low and incomprehensible.

“What was that?” Scarecrow inquired at once.

“Batman … has … a Batplane...”

“Ah!” 

That explained indeed a lot, in the darkness it had not been obvious but this place likely was an abandoned airfield. Nigma had always striven to beat the Bat at everything, including and completely failing at building his own version of the Batmobile. So, this was the logical next step... If one followed Riddler-logic.

It would have taken a good part of the week Riddler was missing, to find, buy or steal, the required parts. Which led to the next obvious question.

“And the Bat won’t come knocking to ask you about some stealth bomber or F17-jet parts the military may have misplaced recently?”

Weeell…he might ask Kite-Man a few uncomfortable questions, I may have handed out some bribes borrowing his name.”

“I can see why you are not exactly quaking in your boots of fear for the dreadful Kite-Man’s revenge. Nice move.” Scarecrow chuckled at the absent villain’s soon to come misery. “So, how far did you progress with the construction?”

“Huh? Oh, I am done – mostly, just need to give it a stylish green paintjob when the welding lines have cooled.” Nigma waved at the military-gray hulk of metal behind him, which looked more like a prop from a Star Wars movie than an actual plane.

Then, Riddler looked at Scarecrow appraisingly.

“Say, have you ever piloted anything?”

“No. You?”

“No,” Nigma admitted. “But hey, how hard could it be? Batman is doing it all the time after all.”


	20. Sympathy for a genius

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story by temarcia  
> Featuring: Riddler - Batman: Arkham games

"Even a genius needs a break sometimes," Edward told the unassembled robot, his voice almost apologetic. The motionless mechanism didn't answer, of course, but Riddler felt like he was being excused.

He had intended to finish the new design this weekend, he really had, but it was almost 6 p.m. now and he hadn't slept since yesterday. He couldn't think clearly anymore, that much had become rather obvious when he had mistaken a flask of acetone for his bottle of water and almost drank it.

He needed some rest. The robot on his desk could wait 'till tomorrow, it was not like Batman would come crashing the party.

“Computer, sleep mode,” he ordered and yawned.

“Going into a sleep mode,” the electronic female voice confirmed. “Good night, The Riddler.”

Edward smiled at that, then muttered his goodnight. The main light in the control room went off, leaving the place in a dim, green hue of LED-diodes.

He took off his grease-stained gloves, tossing them onto the workbench, next to the frame of the unfinished new robot. His safety goggles were... He didn't know where, but definitely not on his head anymore. He dragged himself to the room next door, the one he was using as a makeshift bedroom. Its resemblance to an actual bedroom ended with a mattress laying on the bare floor. Riddler didn't care – it was not his home, the hideout was his workplace and he only happened to stay there all the time for his own convenience.

On his way to the nest-like pile of blankets atop the mattress, he kicked his shoes off, sending them fly across the small room. Next was his question-marks shirt, already unbuttoned. He shoved it to the chair that pretended to be a bedside cabinet, the undershirt followed shortly. With his pants, dirty with dried paint, he didn't even bother – he just left them on the ground where they fell. It was dark in the room anyway, no one would see the mess. And when he was finally free from all his clothes aside from his socks and boxers...

“You could have put a little more flair to this show, you know.”

He literally jumped up at the voice coming from the darkness behind him. Someone switched the light on. Edward gasped and caught one of the blankets from the bed, to awkwardly cover his far too exposed body with it.

This action made the intruder giggle. “Aw, Eddie. I promise not to stare...too much.”

Despite her words, Catwoman didn't look away, not even for a moment, and he could swear, that damn gaze was burning his skin. He felt his cheeks going hot out of embarrassment.

“Catwoman!” He hissed with pure spite at the smiling cat-burglar, who looked like she had eaten a fat, tasty canary. Oh, how he hated to be looked down at like this, especially by those lesser than him. “How did you...” No, no – that wasn't the right question. “How dare you?!” Yes, better – how dare she come here uninvited. “How dare you intrude on me?! Your visit here is not only unwanted but also incredibly inappropriate and rude!”

“Calm down, sweetie.” The woman dressed from top to toe in black leather cocked her head. “I'm not here to steal from you. And I'm most definitely not here to admire your 'good-looks' either.”

Her nonchalant tone and triumphant smirk were enough to make Riddler furious.

“Then why are you here?! It's not only trespassing but also harassment!”

“Call the cops,” she laughed. “I dare you.”

“I don't need those GCPD dullards! I have my own brainless muscles hired to deal with stray cats like yourself!”

“Oh, I know you do. So? Aren't you gonna call your thugs for help? And tell them that a big, bad girl is mean to you again?" She made a funny voice, pursing her lips in sheer mockery. "And the world’s-greatest-supervillain can't handle a single kitty?” There was a pause, which the pesky Cat used to grin some more.

“I-I...” Edward tried, too angry to come up with any logical argument.

Catwoman's stupid self-confidence was incredibly frustrating; and the worst thing – she was right, calling his thugs was out of the question.

“I thought so,” she mused. “But don't worry Eddie, play nice and this cat is not going to hurt you. I'm not all that bad, you know.” She examined the sharp, steel claws attached to her gloves as if suggesting the exact opposite.

“So what do you want?!” He spat out, sending her a nasty glare – which did nothing to intimidate her, of course, and yet it made him feel better. “Are you here for any other reasons than simply to annoy me?”

“Actually, yes. Believe me or not, but I don't enjoy your company any more than you enjoy mine. I have something to discuss with you,” Catwoman finally seemed to get to the point. “It was easier to find you than to contact you over the Net. So here I am. Not my fault you provided the additional...entertainment.”

He wrapped the blanket tighter around himself, hiding from her impertinent gaze. “You just want to talk? And you had to wait with it until I undress?”

“What can I say? Men tend to be more cooperative when vulnerable.” She shrugged. And then, she took a sudden step toward him, making Edward instinctively step back. “See? It's working,” she purred. Her eyes gleaming with cruel amusement.

While the Cat was having her fun, Riddler was boiling inside.

“I will do you the courtesy of listening to what you have to say, just turn around so I can at least dress up first.”

“You mean, so you can reach for your silly cane and knock me out when I'm not looking? I don't think that's going to work.” The Cat wagged her finger at him. “Sit down and listen.” She pointed at his mattress.

He let out an irritated sigh and sat there, arms crossed so she knew how offended he was for being ordered around in his own lair.

Catwoman took a seat on the bedside chair, tossing his clothes off before placing her backside there and crossing her long legs.

“Now,” she began, “there is a place I need to break in. And the security system has proven itself to be worth something, for once. I want you to assist me in this heist, Eddie.” She pulled out a small memory stick from somewhere beneath her leather costume – to be precise – from somewhere between her breasts. “Take a look.” She leaned down to hand him the device. “Not there!” Her angry voice woke him up from a dream-like state of staring blankly at her wide cleavage. “Take a look at the data! Not at my boobs!” She straightened up and gave him a warning glance.

He shook his head, getting the mental image out of his tired mind. “I don't have time for your silly robberies! Go ask someone else,” he grumbled. “I have my own projects which, I assure you, are more important than cracking some security systems for children. Why would you even think, I want to help?”

“Because a lady asked you nicely?” Catwomen offered with a charming smile.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Kitty, but you were anything but nice so far.”

“Fair enough.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Then, because we are talking about the NASA and there will be both, a challenge, and good money from this. We share fifty-fifty.”

Riddler couldn't help but yawn.

“NASA? Been there, done that. Besides, I have robots to build and Batman to kill. So no, thank you.”

Catwoman stared down at him in a long, thoughtful moment, after that, she silently got up and walked toward the door.

“It's a shame, Eddie,” she spoke again, now almost at the exit. “We could both gain something but... In that case, I guess I'd have to tell Batman where you are and what you are working on so he can come visit you too.”

It took his sleep-deprived brain a few seconds to process that threat.

“You can't do this, you can't bring him here. I'm not ready yet!”

“Then better start preparing 'cause I'm so gonna do it. And while at it, I'll mention your tiny, little calves.” She grinned.

The familiar sensation of hotness spread across his face, ears, and neck.

“My calves aren't tiny! They are perfectly normal! And I forbid you to talk to Batman about any parts of my body, other than my superior brain!”

“But talking about the location of your hideout is fine, hmm?” She pressed one claw to her lips, faking hesitation. “OK then! Bye, Eddie! I'll send you a postcard to Arkham.”

“No!” He jumped up from his mattress and rushed to stop her from leaving, the blanket around his shoulders waving like a cape. “Wait! I won't let you...” His hand was about to grab her by a shoulder when she turned around, faster than a cheetah, and her claws ended up dangerously close to his bare chest.

“You were saying?”

He was so tempted to tell her what he thought of petty blackmailers like her but he could only swallow as her wretched claws made contact with his skin.

“I-I mean...” He tried his best to repress a shiver when her paw moved a bit closer to his throat. He was almost sure she would make a 'cat got your tongue' pun. Thankfully, she didn't. “I mean, I won't let you leave disappointed, my dear. I can think where to fit you into my busy schedule.”

“I'm glad you changed your mind.” With that, she took her paw of off him – only her index finger still lingered. “Take a look at the data and contact me on Wednesday. I have a feeling, we will make a very good team, you and I.” She patted his cheek playfully and just like that – she was gone.

On her way out, she turned the light off, leaving him with only darkness and his thoughts. Riddler stood there, in the middle of his small, makeshift bedroom, biting his lip and trembling slightly – not out of cold or stress, no – out of purest rage.

“A team? Me and that flea-bitten cat? Ha!” He muttered to himself as he started pacing. “She'll be sorry to ever come here, treating me like that!”

He stopped abruptly and turned the light back on. Sleeping needed to wait – he had revenge to plan!


	21. Happy Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story by WorstCase  
> Featuring: The Penguin - DC Comics

“One soda water and a ‘Last Laugh’ for booth three,” the waitress ordered to the barkeep which caused Oswald Cobblepott, the proud owner of the Iceberg lounge, to look up from the inventory list.

He made a hasty gesture to one of his men and whispered: “Wait outside for that young fellow Carlos to show up. Don’t let him in, and give him a fair warning that he can’t sell his cut roses to the couples at the tables here tonight. Also, tell him that he owes me a favor for that warning.”

That potential murder averted, the Penguin decided to take a break from the admittedly tedious procedure of stock-taking he had been busy with since the afternoon, to take a closer look at the rest of the orders-list, maybe it would pay to know who else was gracing his establishment with their presence tonight.

Right the very first item on the list was a ‘Black and Tan’ plus four normal beer. That wouldn’t have been that unusual an order, if it hadn’t come from booth ‘two’ Penguin sighed, Two-Face and at least four members of his gang.

Maxi Zeus likely had brought a few of his thugs as well, at least Oswald couldn’t imagine who else would have ordered ‘Nectar and Ambrosia’.

A bit further down on the list was the next unusual item - a can of green tea. Penguin remembered very well how that annoying man had waltzed in and requested it the first time, years back, and had explained his order with: ‘alcohol is not the solution’. That pun hadn’t been funny then and it still wasn’t funny now.

But a lot of the villains in Gotham seemed to think they were funny, why else would Solomon Grundy order a ‘Corpse Reviver #2’ every time he dragged himself through these doors? Penguin doubted the man still could even so much as taste what he was tossing back, not even talking about a zombie possibly getting drunk.

Going by that, Scarecrow was even worse. He at least could still taste but decided for suffering through drinking a ‘Nightmare Cocktail’ every time he walked into a bar, just for the name. That was outright crazy.

Oswald wouldn’t ever sink to that level! Was he supposed to drink nothing but tequilas? Because of the early bird gets the worm? Haha, how funny - not! It wasn’t even really fitting but if there was any drink with a raw herring as an ingredient, then Oswald really didn’t want to know about it.

That said – who had ordered egg nog? It wasn’t even close to x-mas yet. Was professor Egg-Head back in town or did Mad Hatter hire a new Humpty Dumpty?

Normally Penguin didn’t mind one or two of the villains and former Arkham inmates showing up in the lounge, but tonight it seemed about everyone needed a stiff drink. It left the feeling of sitting on a damn powder-keg and just a little disturbance being enough for it to blow up in his very face. 

And to cement that feeling, over there at the bar sat that seedy Malone fellow, as always chewing on a god-damn match. That was a guy who always seemed to show up shortly before hell broke loose. And usually, he disappeared in the chaos just for something to go up in flames while the police force was distracted with dodging bullets and turning on the bat-signal.

He was about to return to the orders-list when he realized that Malone wasn’t alone and hurried over to the two occupied barstools.

“Please, tell me that isn’t a ‘Malibu shake’ in the kid’s glass,” he demanded, looking accusingly between the barkeep, Malone, and the obviously underage boy who was sporting a similar set of sunglasses and was chewing on a match of his own.

Matches just shrugged. “It has milk in it so it’s gotta be healthy, right? Missus said I should spend some time with him, be a father figure and a role model, you know? Right, 'lil Matches?” He ruffled the boy’s hair, which actually evoked a growl from the kid. Nasty little fellow, apparently.

“So, you drag your kid into a bar and order him alcohol. Some role model you are,” Penguin chided. “This establishment is not supposed to serve alcoholic beverages to minors!” He cast the barkeep a deathglare. If the Iceberg lounge lost their license over this, the barkeep’s head would roll.

“Naw, it’s all cool, he may seem young but if you look at his drivers’ license, you can see Junior is 21 already.” Matches senior grinned winningly.

“Hell no! I am not buying that,” Penguin ground out. “Barkeep give the kid a cola on the house instead.”

“But there is caffeine in that!” Malone senior protested. “Do you want him to stay up all night?”

“Not my problem,” Penguin declared. Maybe he should find out who that ‘missus’ was and tattle on Malone to her. That might keep that damn arsonist out of his lounge for a while.

Speaking of keeping out, was that Carlos? What the hell was he doing in here? Seemed like he hadn’t come willingly or alone. A thug was basically dragging him by the arm and the other six thugs in his company were clearly looking for trouble, they were coming straight for Cobblepot.

“Are you the owner of this hole?” Their leader demanded – really did that idiot not know who he was talking with? Still, Oswald decided to at least try and solve this like civilized beings, new furniture was expensive.

“Yes, the lounge belongs to me, you must be new to Gotham? What would be the problem?”

“The problem is: I work for Mr. Ibanescu and that Carlos here is under Mr. Ibanescu’s protection. Mr. Ibanescu won’t be happy that you denied dear Carlos entry into your third rate bar. Mr. Ibanescu doesn’t take kindly to men who get in the way of business.” The taller man sneered down on him.

Ah, that explained a few things. The Ibanescu family often hired new ‘talent’ from outside town but apparently, they had skipped over giving their new muscle a tutorial for basic Gotham survival this time.

Oswald peered over to the bar – yes, Matches senior and junior both had disappeared.

“This is a misunderstanding, I merely meant to warn…” he tried again.

“NO! I WARN YOU, YOU WILL LET CARLOS SELL HIS CUT FLOWERS AND GET THE F*** OUT OF HIS WAY OR…”

A curtain opened behind Penguin. 

“Did I just hear the words ‘cut flowers’?” A treacherously calm female voice inquired - which prompted several more curtains in front of several other booths to be drawn back hastily.

A part of the guests hurried towards the kitchen exit. A far bigger part reached for their guns.

Penguin grabbed a bottle from the bar and smashed it over the new mobster’s face.

Taking that slim chance at survival, Carlos darted for the exit tossing his basket as far away as possible, with a furious Poison Ivy hot on his heels.

It was raining cut roses everywhere. ‘Someone’ found that apparently very funny and giggled maniacally.

With a tingle, a coin was tossed into the air: “Scratched.”

The first trigger-happy goon opened fire. 

Then, everyone started shooting.

“Welcome to Gotham, newbies!” Penguin shouted over the din, as he jumped for cover behind the giant block of ice that gave the lounge its name.

All that was missing now to make this evening perfect was Batman showing up.


	22. A Little Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Story by temarcia  
> Featuring: Scarecrow & Riddler - DC Comics  
> The riddle from this chapter was inspired by "THE DEATH OF THE COG" song by Kinetic Typography.

"What is that?"

The small box in his hand was light, wrapped in a toxic-green paper with little black question marks on it, and a purple bow on the top. Jonathan stared at the object with a mixture of disbelieve and suspicion. Edward was giving him that annoying, cocky smile of his.

"Do you want me to answer it in a form of a riddle?"

"Do you ever answer in any other form?"

Hoping for a 'normal' reply would be a waste of time, that much was given. Jonathan braced himself.

"Once had cogs, once had springs, once had all the ticking things.  
Now I'm digits, all gears gone – thanks to Mr. Hamilton.  
What am I?"

"A watch?" Jonathan wasn't certain.

"Well, only one way to find out. Unwrap it." The Riddler rushed him playfully, the smile on his face even wider.

Jonathan undid the bow, tore the paper and carefully opened the box. It was a wristwatch indeed, and an expensive looking one, all chrome and leather.

"Oh, look at that," Edward chattered gleefully. "You guessed it right. Good for you."

A pair of blue eyes narrowed a little.

"What is that?" Jonathan inquired, his tone a bit colder this time.

"I thought we already answered that riddle. It's a watch..."

"I can see that," he cut the other man off before the Riddler could get into rambling. "I was asking about your intentions. You're giving me a watch – but is it a gift? If so, what's the occasion? Or is that a bribe? If so, what is that you want in return? Or perhaps..." Here, his voice seemed to get lower, more menacing. "Perhaps this is one of your games, and the watch will blow my arm off if I put it on and don't answer your riddles."

The expression on Edwards face changed, the smile vanished and it was obvious he felt offended.

"It's just a normal watch," he crossed his arms. "A Swiss one, if you care to know. I got it for you because the last time we met, you showed up late. And, as I already told you back then, I don't fancy being kept waiting." Edward's tone was getting dramatic, the man did that often. "But then, I couldn't help but notice that you didn't wear a watch so I thought..."

"Oh, you're very observant..." Jonathan interrupted again, a small smirk dancing on the corner of his lips. "You were watching my hands closely, weren't you?"

"Well, they were wrapped around my throat," Riddler retorted, his face sporting that little twitch of nervousness that made him easy to read. "I had a close-up on your wrists while you were busy choking me."

"I don't recall you protesting...much."

"It's hard to do with the air supply being cut off by your fingers!"

At this point, Jonathan found it hard not to chuckle darkly.

"Do you like it more when it is Batman who does that?"

"Excuse me?" Edward's face was almost as red as his hair. "I don't... I don't have time for this nonsense. If you don't want that watch, fine! Give it back." He held out his hand expectedly.

Jonathan Crane just stood there in silence, enjoying the moment.

"No, I'll take it," he decided. "Thank you. It was very thoughtful."


	23. Interrogation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Story by temarcia  
> Featuring: Riddler & Batman - Batman: Arkham games

The not-very-subtle way the Bat had been treating his henchmen for the past three minutes should have given Riddler an idea of what would come next. And yet, when his hand got caught in Batman's iron grip, twisted and trapped in a painful armlock – he was not mentally prepared for that. Knowledge did not always pay off, apparently.

“Where is he?!”

A kick to the back of his knee sent Edward down to the floor. At the same time, the self-righteous vigilante had Riddler's arm fixed in a most uncomfortable angle, forcing his whole body to stay low. A little more pressure and a dislocated shoulder would be the inevitable outcome, not an empty threat.

“Who?”

Riddler immediately regretted asking as he felt Batman pressing harder, sending a jolt of pain through his right arm. He yelped, the fingers of his free hand digging uncontrollably into the dirty flooring. It was impossible to escape, he was at the mercy of this so-called 'hero'.

“Playing dumb doesn't suit you, Nigma.” The Dark Knight's voice was tainted with anger. It sounded like a promise of something horrible, if not for his current position Edward would consider starting to run by now. “Where is Scarecrow?” His captor hissed into his ear. “You were seen together at Port Adams, don't try to deny it.”

He didn't. “I admit, we had a meeting there last week, and not at his hideout. I don't know where it is,” he spat out the words as quickly as possible, wishing that Batman would not catch on to the obvious annoyance in his voice. “That fear-obsessed fool didn't invite me to his current place! He didn't even call! After all this time, he...” He caught himself before it was too late. But it already was, wasn't it? He felt his face getting hotter and for once he was glad that he didn't have to look the Bat in the eyes. “My point is, I don't know where Crane is hiding,” he added just to return to the right topic.

“I don't have time for your petty partnership problems. I need the location of Crane's base, or a way to track him down. And you're going to help me.”

“I told you, I... Aah! It hurts, you damn thug!”

“How to find him?!” The man growled and the prospect of a nasty injury that had been planted in Edward's head was now growing stronger with every passing second.

“I-I can't... I can't help you! He will know it was me! And he will send me on a fear trip with his stupid toxin for a ticket!”

If he didn't know better, he would imagine a smirk on Batman's stupid face.

“So that's a tough choice, hm?” The Bat mocked in an ominous whisper. “Think of it. Who do you fear more? Scarecrow? Or me?”

There was a knee pressed to his back now. One push, and Riddler arched – but his arm stayed where it was, held in place by firm hand. Something in his shoulder blade seemed to crack. He cried out, terrified by incoming pain.

Then, the torture stopped.

“I'll make this choice easier for you,” the cold whisper in his ear offered. “In a moment, I'm going to break your right hand, you'll cry and scream but I'll hold you down and when you adjust to the pain, I'll break your left hand. And there will be no escaping Arkham, no building deathtraps, no writing riddles – not with both hands broken. Use your head, can you imagine how pleasant that will be?”

Edward swallowed hard, for some reason the words alone sent his mind into a state of panic. His imagination was very eager to show him all horrible scenarios of being sent to the asylum with both hands in plaster, unable to do as much as feeding himself. Deep down he knew that his tormenter, that self-claimed savior of Gotham, who in reality was nothing more than a brainless bully, would gladly humiliate him in such cruel way. He had done terrible things to Edward in the past so why would he stop now?

“Or you can tell me what I want to know,” Batman continued, bringing Riddler back from the depths of his dark, dark thoughts. “and I let go of your arm and bring you in unharmed. Your choice, Edward, chose wisely. I'm asking you one last time. Where is Scarecrow?”

“H-he's on a... He might be...” A sudden realization made Riddler pause. “Wait, what time is it?”

Batman didn't answer.

He didn't have to, as the answer presented itself at the very next moment, in the form of a small, sphere-like item being tossed into the room with a clanking sound. A smoke bomb – both Batman and Riddler realized at the same time – right before it went off, releasing a cloud of gas at them.

The Bat let go of Riddler, and Edward fell flat on his face. He tried to cover his eyes and mouth but as soon as he recognized the familiar smell and as his heart rate increased significantly, he knew it was hopeless.

“Dark Knight...” The calm, deep voice that Riddler knew so well, came from the other side of the hall. “I didn't expect you here. I'm afraid your presence is no longer welcome.”

“Give up, Crane!” He heard Batman shouting, but it was getting hard to keep tracks of the events since the toxin in his system was already starting to work its 'wonders'.

Edward's vision was getting blurry, colors getting darker. The reality was slowly morphing before his eyes, the cold claws of his fears gripping at his throat.

“Damn you, Crane,” he mumbled before his mind completely succumbed to the awaiting nightmare – his last clear thought being: “This is the worst rescue ever.”


	24. Joyride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Story by WorstCase  
> Featuring: Scarecrow, Riddler & Mad Hatter - Batman: Arkham games  
> This one is connected to the previous chapter.

Batman was everywhere!

The dark silhouette burst into a swarm of smaller bats just to unite again into a solid form, getting closer and closer by every second. The floor was so covered with rotting corpses of Riddler’s henchmen that he wouldn‘t have known where to put his feet, even if another demonic incarnation of Batman wasn’t dragging him away at the same time. Needless to say, Nigma was bound and couldn’t move, his voice had given out from screaming a while ago.

The Bat hauled him outside, and there was ...it - the one thing that Edward hated more than Batman himself.

He twisted in the stranglehold to give the ugly, overrated, rusty bulk of metal called the Batmobile a solid kick with both his tied together legs.

“Hello...?” Huh, did that thing talk now? “…anyone out there hearing me? If so, can you set me free?” A faint voice whined.

The Batman, the one who was currently holding him, stared at Nigma intensely. “Can you open the trunk of that thing?”

Edward whimpered in fear.

“Come on, Nigma, we don’t have time for this! Can you crack that trunk open?”

Well, apparently he could. With shaking hands, wrists still tied, Edward hacked into the electronic security lock.

The trunk opened. A cloud of bats emerged and swallowed him into darkness. Riddler tried to scream but no sound came out.

-#-

Jervis Tetch stretched his limbs as he climbed out of the seat restraints of the Batmobile trunk. He eyed the twitching form of Riddler who was only held somewhat upright by Scarecrow.

“He took a fear-toxin grenade to the face,” Crane needlessly explained. “Help me get him into a car before Batman is done with knocking the cannon-fodder around."

Scarecrow had a batarang sticking out of the other arm, not currently occupied by supporting Nigma, and noise from the warehouse behind them indicated that Batman was indeed not down for the count but was busy mopping the floor with at least a dozen henchies instead.

Wordlessly Hatter supported Riddler on the other side, made more difficult as he was much shorter than both other men.

With a curse, Scarecrow fished around in a pocket. Then the car keys fell out of his numb fingers. 

Tetch looked at the keys, at the blood oozing from Crane’s arm and sighed.

“It’s not lethal, you will live but you are no way fit to drive, aren’t you?”

-#-

Riddler laid all sprawled over the backseat, Scarecrow, riding shotgun, was trying to stem the bleeding with a bandage after pulling the batarang out of the wound, and Hatter…

“Can you even see where we are going?” Crane inquired, as the car grazed a fire hydrant and ran over yet another mailbox. A few letters got stuck on the windscreen and were hastily wiped to the side. Really, who still wrote dead tree letters nowadays?

“The bats! The bats are attacking!” came a screech from the back. 

Apparently, Riddler had woken. Scarecrow couldn’t help a chuckle at this delicious display of utter terror. But then again, he probably should try to calm the man down, it wouldn’t do to rescue him just for him to suffer a heart attack or something. “We already lost Batman, Nigma.”

“Hate to thwart the comfy bubble, but the rear mirror says we are in trouble. I’d say that mobile brings the Bat ...I wish I had a chauffeur hat.” 

Tetch threw the wheel around and their car careened into a side street, flattening a few trashcans.

“How did he even find us?” Scarecrow hissed, lowering the window on his side to toss a few smoke bombs into the batmobile’s path.

“Uh… that might be my fault, about your harbor meeting him I told when he wrenched my arm and threatened with harm, I admit I caved, I’m not that brave,” Hatter stuttered.

“That’s why he went to Riddler and that’s why you were in the trunk?” Scarecrow asked scandalized. “Are you telling me that BOTH of you guys fear HIM more than ME?”

“Stop screaming ‘it is not fair’! You weren’t there.”

“Anyway, how did the damn bat find us now? We had a headstart!” Scarecrow gesticulated behind them where the tank that was the Batmobile peeled through the smoke and caught up.

“You need to get the bat out of the car,” Nigma groaned weakly from the backseat.

“Oh, stuff it, Nigma! You should be afraid of me being in the same car, there is no bat here… “ Scarecrow started and then trailed off as he suddenly realized he was not entirely right.

He grabbed the previously discarded bloody batarang and tossed it out of the open side window.

“Of course, Batman has those things bugged on top of everything else!” Crane grouched. “No surprise he can find us everywhere. Step on it, Tetch!”

“We have the bat still in our tow, and how to shake him? I don't know. Why can’t it be St. Patrick’s day? To throw a parade in his way.” Tetch was worriedly eying the mirror for the Batmobile closing in.

“Watch the traffic light! And the truuuuck!” 

Scarecrow’s screech gave Hatter just ample warning to hastily throw the wheel around to narrowly avoid the tank truck thundering over the crossing.

Oversteering, he missed the exit to the bridge and the car shot down the embankment. Riddler screamed now more from pain than fear as he was tossed around on the backseat like a ragdoll.

The scarce vegetation did nothing to slow the car down before it finally flopped into the water. The impact with the surface felt like running into a brickwall, before being smashed into the seats and almost suffocated by the instantly inflating airbags.

“Oh, for f***’s sake!” Crane stabbed the airbags with his toxin needles until they collapsed.

The river’s current had already dragged the vehicle away from the bank, while at the same time icy-cold, dirty water seeped in.

Hatter was fighting with the release of his seatbelt as if he had never used one before.

“Tetch, do you actually have a driver’s license?” Scarecrow inquired while trying to drag the still delirious and near unconscious Riddler over from the backseat.

Hatter shrugged: “Driving without might be my smallest crime, why would I worry about paying a fine?”

“Oh, I can promise you, a fine will be the last thing to worry about after we get out of this. And I hope you can at least swim!” Crane exclaimed.

The doors wouldn’t open anymore, thanks to the water pressure. They would have to escape through the luckily already lowered side window.

Scarecrow had no much trouble fitting through the opening but it took near eternity to pull Nigma out of the car.

The car was already sinking like a rock when Riddler’s feet finally came free. 

Crane fought to get them both up to the surface. He had no time to help or worry about Hatter – Tetch was the only one of them who was not injured and he had gotten them into this mess in the first place. If he had made it out of the car, he should come to the surface any second now… Any second…

The dark river was flowing undisturbed, the water too murky to see anything. Scarecrow looked around, Riddler was weighing him down, his clothing and especially the shoes were like trying to swim with an anchor as well. He could barely keep both their heads over the surface. There was no chance he could dive, find the sunken car and help Tetch to…

With a desperate gasp Hatter broke through the surface, trying to draw as much air into his lungs as possible. Then he dog-paddled over, adding more weight for Scarecrow to keep afloat.

“I wish I hadn’t cried so much," he coughed, "to drown in my own tears! O Mouse, do you know the way out of this pool? I am very tired of swimming about here, O Mouse!” 

“Stop calling me that! If you want some rodent to help… ” Scarecrow interrupted himself to spit out some water “…then ask the Bat for a rescue!” Crane was at the end of his patience and whatever contamination was in the water, was burning in the open wound in his arm. They needed to get out of the river – now.

Ahead of them was an abandoned factory complex.

“Tetch, over there!” Crane nodded with his head into the direction of a dried up sewage pipe.

The pipe was one of the larger sewage outlets, from Gotham’s golden age, when the chemical factories could still spill anything into the river without causing the environmentalists to riot. Nowadays, everything had been outsourced to countries where rioting environmentalists were simply shot.

Somehow the two of them managed to get hold of the pipe and pull themselves and Riddler out of the water.

“What now and how?” Tetch requested, after a few precious seconds of catching their breath.

“Now we wake up Nigma, shake off the Bat, find dry clothes and seek someone or someplace to patch us up – not necessarily in this order.” Scarecrow groaned tiredly.

Maybe once Riddler was back to his senses, Crane should play possum and let himself be carried around for a change. Would serve those two idiots right.


	25. Under the table

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story by WorstCase  
> Featuring: multiple villains - DC Comics

Meal times in Arkham were just that – a source for organic fuel which kept the body going, rarely it lifted the spirit. Still, while it was not a five stars restaurant, dinners always remained within ‘edible’ margins, the cooks had that much of a self-preservation instinct.

It was also the time of the day the hugest group of Arkham inmates was gathered in a single room and the surveillance of each individual was the weakest. As long as you were capable of some sleight of hand, a lot could be accomplished in the lunchroom, with the asylum staff none the wiser. Which was why there were rarely violent brawls or even huge commotions staged here, the place was too valuable a neutral ground for all sorts of shady deals. Like the flourishing drug trade over at table three right now...

Joker was currently sitting there, apparently poking around in his mashed potatoes, making a smiley face pattern with the fork. But actually, he was patiently waiting for anyone willing to separate with some ‘Pick-me-ups’. He regularly got saddled with sedatives, which were overall pretty low on demand.

It was rather surprising when the Ventriloquist slowly – as to not make any sudden movements – slid into the seat across from him. This was all the more surprising since Arnold wasn’t ‘accompanied’ by his doll Scarface and thus, was likely there more or less of his own free will and not that of his violent split persona.

“I trade you five of the pink ones for your entire stock,” Wesker muttered out a deal proposal nervously, which was an incredible offer. However, it left some unease in some of the observers for obvious reasons.

Well, the drug trade was nothing unusual because controls at the dispensary or not – basically no one ever took the pills they were actually told to swallow. But this?

“Hey Arnie! You are making my day all the sweeter. But tell me, are you planning to break out from here permanently and play with the bats in hell instead in Gotham?” Joker bluntly asked a man whether he was suicidal.

Wesker shook his head resignedly: “Don’t tempt me. No, no… it is just… Waylon Jones is back in, and the snoring… I haven’t slept for three days now.”

“Seriously?” Joker laughed. “Didn’t you ask the guards for earplugs then?”

“I did…” Wesker admitted.

“And they wouldn’t help you?” Joker pulled a kicked puppy pouting face, apparently hurt by the cruelty of the world – he fooled exactly no one. “How mean of them!”

“Actually they did… one pair…” Wesker lowered his head in shame. “Scarface told me what a weakling I am, took them away and now he is using them for himself.”

Joker almost fell out of his chair laughing and several of the other inmates at the nearby tables joined in. It took him a while to calm down from that and Arnold just sat there awkwardly and waited, until the crazy clown spoke to him again: “Tell you something – ten khaki yawners for three of your pink paradise – unless you have one of the black monsters, too. I’m willing to give you my entire stash for one of them.”

“Three pink pills it is then, sorry, I haven’t even seen a single one of the black ones this time around. And I’ve been already in for a month.”

Just as they covertly made the exchange, a shadow fell over their table.

Riddler pulled one of the empty chairs out and sat down with them uninvited. Joker was about to tell him to get lost, as Nigma inquired all of a sudden: “Does either one of you, perchance, have any green pills you are willing to separate with?” 

Both other men stared at him as if he had just declared to be Batman. Then the Joker had another fit of maniacal laughter.

“Did you decide, you are too lazy to shave in the morning or do you want to apply for singing soprano in the asylum choir, Eddie?” he finally snickered.

“Wha… why wou… why would they give us those infernal hormone bombs?” Wesker stammered. 

“That’s what they are?” Riddler seemed genuinely surprised and sounded quite scandalized.

“He didn’t know!” The Joker was already bending over from laughter again.

The only thing that kept the guards from investigating table three was, that it was currently Joker’s table, and they really didn’t want to know what had set him off this time or get any closer to him than necessary.

“What did you think the green pills were for?” The Ventriloquist had shed off some of his natural shyness in favor of curiosity.

“I just wanted something green to leave a riddle with – I have everything ready for one of my flawlessly executed grandmaster escape plans. But it is not like I can ask the staff here for a green marker if I want to keep that a secret – obviously.”

“You can have twenty of mine for the right price, not that anyone else asks for them.” Poison Ivy nonchalantly put a tray with a plate of apple slices down at their table. Wesker took that as his sign to excuse himself with a polite nod.

Not that Wesker and Pamela had currently any form of feud, it was just not advisable to draw too much of the guards’ attention to one single table, else even Joker’s presence wouldn't keep the nosier ones away.

“And why do the docs want you to take hormones?” Nigma inquired while he let his gaze roam over Ivy’s voluptuous curves. She of all people didn’t need to become more feminine.

“Oh, some of our brilliant shrinks seem to believe, that I might not kill as many polluters, if I develop some ‘motherly feelings’ for their fellow human beings. Those idiots should get it into their bloated heads that I have more than enough ‘motherly feelings’ but I prefer to focus them on my plant babies who actually deserve them.” Ivy lamented before she concentrated on business once more. “And here we come to the price for the pills: I am sure you have heard of Cosanto corp the seed manufacturer? A little bird told me their genetics department plans a new atrocity against nature. I want you to collect me some data about their laboratory crew from chief researcher to lowest lab assistant. Should be an easy enough job for a hacker as talented as you.” 

“Thirty green pills – twenty is not enough to leave a decent message …unless you have a black one? Then I’d surely find a way to leave a message with only fifteen greens, I don’t know what they are but the black ones help me concentrate.”

“Hey now! I was here first!” Joker threw in. “If you have any black monsters, I can make a much better offer than Riddler.” He eyed a nearby table where Harleen Quinzel and Professor Crane were immersed in their own conversation. Joker uncharacteristically lowered his voice “I’d not contact Harley in any form for an entire month for a single black pill.”

Ivy crossed her arms angrily. “I never said I had any black ones. I don’t even understand what is supposed to be so special about them.”

“What’s so special? Seriously? Most of the inmates here would give an arm and a leg for them – not necessarily their own limbs but still,” Riddler tried to explain.

“They are my absolute favorite! Blood is redder, brain is grayer, everything is more colorful after one,” Joker agreed. “Don’t you think so too Harley, that the black pills are just the best?” Now that the crazy clown knew there would be no deal with Ivy, he made sure to get Harleen’s attention. There was not much Poison Ivy could do about it and he knew she hated that.

“Huh?” Harleen looked back and forth between her quietly seething best friend and her beloved Puddin’, apparently confused by those two even sitting at the same table peacefully, “Which pills do you…? …Ooooh… black! You mean those… no, I think they taste gross. If I ever get one prescribed, you can gladly have it,” she waved the question off.

“I don’t agree, I kind of like that spicy, salty taste. It is one of the few medications in this forsaken place I would actually agree to.” Professor Crane threw in, though no one had asked him.

“Looks like no one has gotten any prescribed for a while now though, or whoever it is, is keeping them all for themselves.” Riddler skillfully let the small package of green hormone pills Ivy had shoved over disappear under his inmate uniform.

“I may have to break a few arms in here or break out then and find a supplier of my own.” Joker grinned, gave Harleen a wink and left the lunchroom – likely to play around with the pink paradise pills he had received from Wesker.

Ivy looked too grumpy for a chat, so Harleen turned back to her conversation with Scarecrow: “You know, I heard the black pills were a one-time experiment.” She tried to not obviously grin.

“Yes, that is a rumor I heard too. And I knew the taste was familiar. I guess the experiment didn’t go as well as our dear former colleagues planned.” Crane looked interestedly over the mass of clueless inmates still remaining in the lunchroom.

“Mildly said, after that bloodbath Mr. J dished out back then,” Harleen agreed, chuckling.

“Now, now, Arkham’s accomplished, world-renowned psychiatrists could never have foreseen that outcome. I mean who would have ever thought that handing out placebos to violently insane criminals for therapy would be a bad idea?” The normally sourly-looking Scarecrow by now grinned as well.

“But what I really don’t understand, is…” Harleen paused for a moment, looking at her conversational partner, “…how you or anyone else could possibly like the taste of ammonia licorice.”


	26. Down the Drain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Story by temarcia  
> Featuring: Scarecrow & Mad Hatter - Batman: Arkham games  
> This one is a continuation of chapter 24 "Joyride".

"Cold and wet but not dead, shouldn't we celebrate instead?"

Scarecrow, who was really getting too old for that, shot the unreasonably optimistic Mad Hatter a glare of disgust from under his soaked hood. The action didn't make any good in the darkness of the sewers.

“I would gladly share your enthusiasm if I weren't stuck here with you, Nigma, and with the Bat on our tail. We will be lucky if Killer Croc is not around looking for his dinner.”

“Maybe he will invite us to have some cake? A cup of tea also sounds great!”

“Just...forget it.”

It was getting unbearably cold, and the wet clothes became heavy. It didn't help that his injured arm hurt like hell, not to even mention his crooked leg. Despite the tiredness, Scarecrow limped further down the sewer pipe.

“Where are you going?!” He could hear Tetch's worried voice calling out for him. “Oh, where are you going? It's not a lot of empathy you're showin'!” 

He ignored him and kept moving forward, the slippery goo splashed under his already soaked boots.

He didn't get far, there were metal bars preventing him to get further into the sewer system. Rusted they might be but otherwise intact. If the Bat showed up there would be nowhere to escape from this dead-end trap.

The sound of hasty splashes prepared Scarecrow for Hatter's arrival. The little man actually bumped into his back before Jonathan could turn around. Tetch was breathing in and out rapidly, looking up to him with his wide eyes.

“Don't leave me alone!” the man whimpered. “I want to go home!” The small hand clutched onto Crane's coat but Scarecrow slapped it off immediately.

“We're not going anywhere, we're trapped here.” He pointed at the bars with a small gesture.

Hatter looked in that direction and understood the situation. 

“Oh. I know!”

“What now?”

“I know how to go through. I just need to use you.”

Before he knew it, Scarecrow was already under Mad Hatter's spell, hypnotized and awaiting orders while his mind drifted away into oblivion.

“Scarecrow, my friend,” Tetch's voice rang inside his skull as if it was coming from the inside. “Lend me a hand. It looks like we both reached a dead end. And this won't do for me and you. So, break out the bar and let us go through. Chop-chop!”

Jonathan's thin arms moved on their own, grabbing the rusty metal. Then, the muscles hardened as he pulled with a force, he didn't know he had. The bars gave out a screech, Scarecrow's hands began to shake from the extreme physical effort. But he kept pulling. Red drops of blood were falling from his injured arm into the mud under his feet.

“Oh, dear,” Hatter gulped nervously but did not take his order back.

Something 'popped', and unfortunately it didn't come from the bars. One of Scarecrow's arms went limp and he lost his hold. Hatter winced and inhaled with a long hiss.

“Oh dear, oh dear, I thought we were near...”

Jonathan made no sound, feeling no pain – only the overwhelming need to keep pulling. His other hand, still on the bar, pulled with all its might. And with that one, desperate action the rusty metal finally gave out. Scarecrow fell back, stumbling onto a Hatter. Jervis yelped and tripped over but caught his balance in time, saving them both from crashing into the muddy ground.

“Are you OK, Jonathan Crane?”

All Scarecrow did, was showing a broken bar that has left in his hand as if it was some kind of a trophy.

“Good job, my friend,” Hatter prized, beaming and patting Jon's trembling forearm. “Now, fix up your hand.” He nodded at the man's most likely dislocated shoulder.

With his good one, Doctor Crane obediently grabbed his numb arm. A moment later 'something' popped once again. Hatter shivered at the horrible sound but when he looked up, Jonathan looked as good as new. The little man smiled and snapped his fingers.

“Ughhh!”

The very moment the mind-control wore off and Scarecrow was back to his senses, the sensation of white-hot pain shot through his right arm.

“What...aghh...have you done,” he hissed, clutching at his shoulder and panting heavily. His whole body was trembling and both of his arms hurt like two hells. His memories of the last few minutes seemed blurry but the last thing he remembered was... “You hypnotized me, you damn imp!”

If not for the pain, he would strangle the little shithat here and now.

“I just wanted to help!” Hatter squeaked, showing first signs of fear. “Not my fault you got hurt!”

“Hurt? What did you make me do?”

“I...just...” Instead of finishing, Tetch pointed at something with his trembling finger.

Scarecrow turned his head and saw it – one of the metal rods that had blocked the entrance to the second part of the sewer was missing, leaving the gap just big enough for someone thin to squeeze through. 

“I did...this?” That would explain that terrible exhaustion. And the re-opening of the wound...

Jervis smiled at him in response, falsely assuming that he was forgiven. “I knew you were strong, I couldn't be wrong.”

“Yes, yes, apparently you couldn’t... Now, go drag Nigma here, we're going to find out where those sewers will lead us to.”

When Hatter disappeared in the darkness, Scarecrow stared blankly after him for a few seconds, contemplating. To use him, the Master of Fear, like a mere henchman? “Oh, Mr. Tetch. You will be regretting this night dearly,” he murmured to himself. Then, his hand sneaked under his coat, reaching for something hidden in his inner pocket. His long fingers sensed the cold, metal surface and they stroked the cylindrical vessel lovingly. Yes, his fear gas was still there. “Just you wait, Mr. Tetch...” Scarecrow whispered and his scarred face twitched under the mask in a failed attempt to smile.

-#-

For a man as small as Jervis Tetch dragging around the dead weight of a fully grown (at least physically) man, which Edward Nigma definitely was right now – unconscious after exposure to the fear gas and nearly drowning, should be an impossible task and yet, fearing Scarecrow's anger made Mad Hatter manage that somehow. Good, because after all the recent events Jonathan Crane could barely drag his own two legs through those dark, stinky sewers.

The three didn't have the strength to go far, not like that, shaking from the cold and exhaustion. As soon as the dark tunnel led them into an open space of a big, empty and long-forgotten water container, Scarecrow called a break.

“Where are we?” Hatter dropped Nigma to the ground and looked around, panting. “I can't see. Can you spell it out for me?”

Crane supported his tired body with the nearest wall, then he slid down to sit on the dirty floor. “I think we entered the old facility of Cortex Chemicals. It's a good place for a hideout, at least for now.” He pulled back his hood and started taking off the soaked coat, trying to prevent his skinny self from trembling violently. “We need to make fire,” he added, hoping that Tetch would get the suggestion.

The little man followed his lead and took off his own coat, then his precious hat. He shook off the water like a wet dog and crouched to fetch something from one of his endless pockets. He took out a broken watch, then put it aside, next was a little, plush teddy-bear, and then a deck of cards. To Jonathan's surprise, Jervis assembled the cards into a small pile – just like a bonfire.

“Lighter, if you please.” He outstretched his hand expectantly.

“I quit,” Jon stated flatly, deciding to just ignore the obvious fact that the wet cards would never even burn in the first place. “Check what Nigma has in his toolkit.”

Hatter nodded and poked gently at Riddler's shoulder. 

“Wake up, Dormouse!” 

When that did nothing, he reached for the said toolkit attached, in its usual place, to Edwards belt.

Nigma's body shook suddenly, his eyes snapped open.

“Nooo, no!” The man cried out, his hands springing out to grasp Hatter's collar. “He's out to get us!!!”

Jervis gasped and tried to get away but it was Scarecrow who reacted the fastest. His injured leg, wrapped in a metal brace, kicked up and delivered an unbelievably precise blow right into Nigma's head. It instantly knocked the lights out for the man.

“What?” asked Crane, seeing the look that Hatter just gave him. “You're checking that toolkit or not?”

There was nothing useful to start a fire with, unfortunately.

The cold and fatigue made Scarecrow feel numb, he couldn't move his right hand anymore.

“Listen to me, Jervis,” he barely had the strength to speak but it was important. “You have to go look for supplies. Maybe you will be able to find a lighter. You see that ladder?” He nodded to his left. “Climb it and check out what's up there.”

“Maybe... Maybe there will be tea?”

Jonathan sighed, his vision slowly became more and more blurry. “...maybe...”

As Mad Hatter happily skipped away for his little treasure hunt, Scarecrow decided it was time to rest. “He's not going to come back,” crossed his mind before he drifted off. “Is he?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see, dear people! Yes, we're still posting!   
> And we're taking prompts - leave them in the comments.


	27. Meanwhile on Bahamas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Story by WorstCase  
> Featuring: Gotham Sirens - BatmanTAS

„Look! Looook! The sand is pink! Pink!” The young fair-haired woman with the puffy pigtails, who was carrying an enormous purple-white unicorn swimming ring under one arm and an inflatable rubber crocodile under the other, squealed before she dropped both items and ran off towards the water. 

“I think that is why it is called ‘Pink Sand Beach’,” the red-haired woman in her company sighed.

“I still say we should have gone to Cat Island,” the other blonde companion threw in.

“Seriously? You know there aren’t actual cats?” The red-head inquired.

“Oh, come on,” Blonde-two laughed. “Everyone who’s read a tourist guide knows the beaches over there are vastly superior to some simple pink sand.”

“At least you get your wish for a beach. I went on this tour to see the Versailles Gardens on Paradise Island, not to get all shriveled up roasting in the sun or setting a foot into that highly saline solution that people call the ocean, Selina.” The red-haired woman scoffed and planted down a rather huge beach umbrella.

“That reminds me, can you do actual photosynthesis in the sun?" Selina mused.

“None of your business! And enough with the questions, help me set up the ‘base camp’, I doubt Harley will be back any time soon.”

As if to cement that, a motorboat roared by just at that moment, in its wake the still squealing blonde, riding on a giant banana.

-#-

It was 4 am when a ‘slightly’ tipsy Harleen stealth-stumbled back into their shared hotel room.  
She had a little bit of a bad consciousness to have left her best friend Ivy all alone with Selina for the entire day and most of the night – after having grizzled them so much to accompany her to the Bahamas and to the Pink beach.

The fact was, Harleen hadn’t wanted to leave the city all alone. But Mr. J was in a full body cast laid up in the Arkham hospital wing, with more bone fractures than the human body had actual bones.  
Mr. J’s grand escape plan over the railroad tracks hadn’t calculated for the 5 o’ clock train being miraculously punctual for once. And Batman wasn’t the only one looking for her – that creepy Waller woman was too, so an extended vacation and lying low for a while it was.

Harleen fumbled with the keycard – it was dark on the corridor and she didn’t want to wake Red and Sel by accident. 

Spending a vacation with Ivy had some drawbacks – she tended to go on a murder spree whenever she saw a tree being cut down or a lawn being mowed. Thankfully, the hotel here had a lovely Zen garden full of happy little rocks which looked incredibly out of place among all the palms – but the tourists apparently loved it. So maybe they could avoid Red going on a rampage for the sake of nature this time?

Selina had been a surprise +1. Apparently, she and Harleen had the same counterfeiter making their passports. She had originally been planning to visit Hawaii but then they had started talking and one thing had led to another.

So now it was the Bahamas for all three of them.

Harleen sighed as the door finally opened and she slid inside…

…to be nearly blinded as the lights instantly came on.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Selina stated drily. 

“That looks like a half-dead mouse,” Red responded – surprisingly grumpy for the first day of vacation.

“So how has the beach been for you?” Harleen flashed a quick smile.

It was as if a very dark thundercloud suddenly gathered right above their heads, centered on Pamela.

“The men… they offered me dead coco-babies with straws sticking out of them… As to our agreement I didn’t punish them …much.” 

“She mind-controlled them to lay on the beach without sunscreen for the entire day,” Selina chuckled. By evening they were properly roasted – someone’s holidays are definitely over. I, however,” Catwoman seemed to purr happily, “went to rent a boat to get away from those pesky admirers and spent a really fruitful afternoon fishing. Did you know they have Marlin in these waters?”

“Now she is starting again,” Pamela groused “She has been chewing my ears off, telling me about her giant catch.”

“We are going to have smoked marlin tomorrow,” Selina explained smugly, “an absolute delicacy!”

“But you actually like eating fish?” Harleen inquired carefully, as Ivy shouldn’t be this grouchy about it – well of course smoking required burning wood but as long as no one brought it up directly Red tended not to think about it that much.

“Awww don’t worry Harl, she is just down because she lost our bet.” Selina was showing all her teeth as she smiled now. “Really she couldn’t have expected that the room-service in a grand hotel as this would be THAT slow.” Catwoman snickered a bit more “It has nothing to do with your skills being inferior, darling.”

“What are you even talking about now?” Harleen looked from one roommate to the other.

“About those crappy locks in the doors here.” Selina gestured towards the exit. “I told Pam that I could break into any of these rooms without breaking a sweat, and she claimed it wasn’t worth the effort because she could get the staff to unlock any room for her before I’d even pull out my lockpicks. Well, the room-service let her down, royally.”

“And you cheated! You simply jumped onto the balcony from the upper patio! And because you took the only lift to get up there, of course, the room service was late,” Ivy fumed.

“So, she lost and had to pay for the champagne the room-service oh-so-conveniently brought for us,” Selina concluded the tale.

Harleen perked up. “Did you leave any for me?”

Catwoman shrugged. “You weren’t here. Even I was lucky I could get a single glass before Ivy finished the rest of the bottle.” 

“Awwwww.” 

“I had to listen to Selina brag the entire evening! And I had to pay for it, so cut it,” Ivy hissed. “I’m going to bed now, so you can keep her entertained if you want to swap tales about how much fun you had here.” With that Red turned on her heels and stalked out of the main room, slamming the bedroom door shut behind her.

Harleen winced and felt a little guilty.

“Now you are finally here, let’s order another bottle,” Selina interrupted her contemplations and Harleen wasn’t so tipsy as to not instantly perk up at that suggestion. “And then tell me what you did after you fell off the banana.”

“Wait how do you even know I fell off?” Harleen squeaked.

Catwoman chuckled again.

-#-

The next morning was rather the early next afternoon when Harleen gracelessly rolled off the couch. Apparently, she hadn’t bothered to make it to the bed last night…

She and Cats, if Harley’s hangover tortured brain was replaying that memory right, had been playing cards while Harleen had told Selina everything about trying out the beach hang-glider.

Then Selina had put a full house on the table and…

Harleen bolted upright and rummaged through her handbag – her purse with her vacation allowance was so empty, dead space would have envied it.

And on top of that, so was the hotel room and of course neither Selina nor Red had bothered about leaving her as much as a note where they had gone.

-#-

It hadn’t taken Harleen very long to realize that a vacation paradise was pretty boring without cash. Of course, she had managed to snatch a bill here and talk a rich dude into buying her a drink, a dinner and a few presents there but it wasn’t the same as having money to waste on her own. And the generous guy was getting boring fast. So, she decided to dump him at the first opportunity, return to her room and just order a bucket of ice-cream from the room-service – Selina could pay the bill for that one.

To her surprise, Pamela was already back when she entered, and Red’s mood seemed to have improved visibly.

Ivy lounged at the main table and was fiddling around within a parcel that had the logo of the Versailles gardens on it. So apparently, Pamela had taken the first ferry in the morning and had spent the entire day between exotic plants …which made her early return even weirder, if Harley thought longer about it. But then regret took over. She would have preferred to keep Ivy company today, to see her dance among the blooming flowers like the dryad she was. 

Harley hadn’t been a very good friend so far. 

“So uh… you had a good day?” She tried surprisingly awkwardly.

“Oh yes, I collected a few very nice plant samples, the gentlemen from the park staff were all so helpful and understanding. And I am in a very giving mood today.” 

Everyone else would have been fooled but Harleen caught a few undertones in the layers of meaning Ivy’s words actually had. And something in that silky voice was icy cold killing intent.

“I… I am really sorry about just running off yesterday, I mean we had planned this vacation together and then I just did my own thing and didn’t realize you weren’t enjoying yourself at all. So … I….”

Pamela looked up from the parcel surprised. “Wait, what are you apologizing for? That was just you being yourself and having a good day. That beaches aren’t my territory isn’t your fault and we are having our vacation on an island after all. I could have done the same as Catwoman and just wandered off but I was having too much fun watching you fall off the banana before those annoying plant murder jerks showed up.”

“You aren’t angry at me?” Harleen inquired surprised. “But you went to the gardens without inviting me to come along, I thought you didn’t want to see me after yesterday!”

“Of course not,” Red huffed. “I tried to wake you before I left but you were down for good, so I decided to make it just a short visit today and get the items I wanted for this surprise present. Now get over here and help me a little.” 

“Huh, I heard about people sending postcards back home but … you are sending that to Cosanto corporation?” Harley puzzled over the label. “Their genetic seed laboratory? I thought you hated those guys?” 

But as soon as she asked an understanding sparkle lit in Harleen’s eyes.

“Now tell me Harl: How good are you at making smoke-bombs customs can’t detect at the airport?” Pamela asked as if she needed an opinion about her new nail colors.

“Uhhh, that is pretty easy! You just need some white phosphor and… Wait, why just a smoke-bomb?

“Because…” and here Pamela smiled distractedly, “I may have rigged up their sprinkler system with a large tank of their highly poisonous, cancer-inducing, bestselling herbicide product, just before we have left.“

Harleen squealed in glee. Scheming with her best friend was just the bestest! This vacation rocked!  
But maybe next time… they just shouldn’t bring Selina with them?


	28. Riddle me romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Story by WorstCase  
> Featuring: The Riddler

Riddler tiredly rubbed his eyes when he finally looked up from the screen and leaned back in the not too comfy chair in front of his computer system.

He was freshly out of Arkham – this time it had been a longer stay than usual – not that any of the laughable security measures could have held a genius like him for an entire three months – no, it had been rather a lack of motivation to change the status quo. He had been sitting there, listlessly poking around in his daily meals with a blunt plastic spork, giving halfhearted answers in therapy sessions (the latest doctor had wanted to discuss color theories of all things) and been staring into the void, lying on his cot at night, while sleep eluded him.

And why all that? His riddles just weren’t good enough! None of them were! He couldn’t break out of Arkham asylum without a god damned plan, how to once and for all deal with the Bat!

It was not that he didn’t have any plans. On the contrary, he had tons of plans but: None. Was. Good. Enough!

It was only when Harleen had kept bothering the Joker about getting her chocolate truffles for Saint Valentine’s day, that Riddler had finally snapped out of the dullness. Valentine’s day! Of course!

Finally inspired, he had hastily broken out, returned to one of his old hideouts and begun with the actual planning. Only a week left till the V-day and so much to do.

Unfortunately, Riddler wasn’t only on a narrow schedule, he was – thanks to the Bat – also low on cash, supplies and henchmen. And while Eddie’s inspiration had struck at Valentine’s theme, he wasn’t entirely sure what was considered “romantic” those days. He couldn’t ask Quiz or Echo since his two bodyguards were still locked away in Blackgate. So that left him with what? 

Google me this – “Romantic things to do on valentine’s” – the search resulted in a small list:

\- Dancing   
\- Going to the theater  
\- Making your own chocolates  
\- Picnic in the park  
\- Creating pottery   
\- Visiting a concerto  
\- Reenactment of a movie scene 

Dancing – Riddler pondered, in Gotham it meant mostly graceless hopping around to noise that barely passed as music in the low-class clubs the teenagers frequented. He’d rather roll himself up in a straightjacket and crawl all the way back to Arkham before being caught doing that. And he already had Batman jump around between electrical floorboards before, so that wouldn’t be something new and memory-worthy for him.

Watching a play might be acceptable, depending on what was currently in the program, he would have to check later.

Making his very own Bat-chocolate? Sure, why not? It sounded like fun and might be at least a decent warmup.

The picnic in the park – Eddie tried to imagine it – a blanket on the ground, Batman tied to a tree, himself picking the potato-salad from the basket… and Poison Ivy jumping out from the shrubbery, trying to strangle him for eating vegetables… …also: ants.

Riddler really didn’t want to play in the mud either, it'd be just disgusting! So trying his hands at pottery was a big NO as well. Besides what would the odds even be that Clayface got involved there somehow? Likely one in a million, and that ugly mug would still manage to show up and ruin Riddler’s valentines plans anyway.

Music – could almost be as bad as the dancing but maybe, if something classical was played… Still, this was not really inspired enough for the main event of the evening, maybe worth a shot for the backup plan – not that a true genius like the Riddler ever needed any backup plans. 

That left reenacting a movie? 

“Now we are talking,” Riddler smiled and rubbed his hands together energetically. 

It had to be a very romantic movie – Edward began to make another list of things he would need.

-#-

“Gotham City Police Department speaking, how may we be of assistance?”

“This is Oswald Cobblepot…” the caller announced, but he didn’t get any further as the emergency response officer let the phone receiver drop like it was a scalding piece of coal. 

“Commissioner Gordon! Where is Commissioner Gordon? It is the penguin!” the officer shouted and it took several minutes until the receiver was picked up again. 

“Gordon speaking, what do you want Penguin?” GCPD’s chief growled into the phone.

“Finally! That is a pretty awful response time your crew has there, Jim. How reassuring for the average taxpayer that the GCPD emergency response is slightly faster than a senile snail. But back to business, I – an upstanding citizen and proprietor of the Iceberg lounge have to report a theft…”

-#-

When the morning dawned, Alfred Pennyworth waited patiently in front of the main computer of the Batcave, holding a tray with club sandwiches a thermos with tea and a small first aid kit ready. It was worrisome to him, that over the years Master Bruce had slowly started to eat less and less of the sandwiches and needed more and more bandages and lately even tended to just drop into sleep without removing his costume first.

If only he would settle down with someone who would remind him to take care of himself.

Unfortunately, Master Bruce was too stubborn to consider one or the other, but Alfred could still hope that one day…

The Batmobile rolling down the ramp to its parking bay interrupted his thoughts. To Alfred’s relief, Batman did not leave a trail of blood or moved like he had several ribs broken this time, though his cape was shredded and he radiated tiredness.

“Good morning Master Bruce, how was the night?” the Wayne family butler politely inquired, as if his master had just returned from regular CEO-meeting.

“Very strange, Alfred.” Bruce removed the cowl, sank into the computer chair and – much to Alfred’s delight – reached for a sandwich.

“Riddler had left a string of coded directions for me that took me to a Shakespear performance first. Weirdly enough, Twoface was also present, he was trying to kidnap the actors of Romeo and Juliet both for double ransom but I was able to free them while Harvey and Nygma argued.

Then, Riddler lured me to a candy factory, he was trying to drop me into a giant cauldron with molten chocolate, but I was able to escape again because, for some reason, the Joker had targeted the factory too – he was muttering something about chocolate truffles before he was carted back to Arkham.

While I was dealing with Joker, Riddler had slipped away again, so I had to follow him all the way to the harbor, where he – believe it or not – had set up a ship about to run into an iceberg.”

“An ‘iceberg’, sir?” Alfred repeated, lifting an eyebrow.

“Unfortunately, Gordon and the police were not a great help with evacuating the ship, they had their hands full with trying to keep the Penguin from shooting Nygma.

I followed the latter to the Odium, but I only arrived to find Riddler in a fistfight with Calendar man, I don’t think I have ever seen Nygma that angry before.

In the end, he escaped after all. What bothers me most is that I still have no clue what he was up to,” Bruce finished tiredly and bit into the sandwich.

“You should sleep about it for now, maybe you’ll come up with fresh ideas after some hours of rest.” 

'Though I may have an idea or two of what this was about', Alfred thought to himself as he led Bruce out of the cave to the master bedroom, before he might fall asleep in the computer chair again.

-#-

To say Riddler was surprised to find himself in this situation would not be entirely true. While Twoface, Joker and Calendar man were back in Arkham, at least for now, the Penguin had been very angry at him and the Bat was still out there to get him as well after all.

What was surprising, however, it was neither the Penguin nor the Bat, who had him trussed up and dangling from skyscraper like a green pinata. 

It was a slim, apparently elderly, masked man with a cultured British accent, who’d asked him with calm but deadly seriousness: “Mr. Nygma, what are your intentions with Batman?”

“That is a stupid question! I plan to kill him, of course. Everyone knows that,” Riddler barked out angrily as the blood was rushing into his head from this uncomfortable position. 

His captor slowly shook his head. “Are you entirely sure it is ‘just’ that?”

“What are you implying?” Nygma fired back. He should come up with a riddle or at least a smart remark but this encounter had him baffled.

“I am not implying anything,” The masked man continued, “I am actually only here to inform you, that I own a shovel, and that I know at least twenty locations in and around Gotham where nobody would look for a corpse, in case you don’t treat him well.”

“Wait, what?” 

But the stranger had already disappeared back into the shadows, leaving him hanging without any help and without a decent answer.

“Did that madman just give me a ‘Shovel-talk’? Over Batman?” He wondered briefly while trying to get free. “I really need to have a talk with Catwoman. Maybe she knows that weirdo?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that the Vallentine's theme fic is being only five months late, oops.


	29. Not too subtle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Story by temarcia  
> Featuring: The Joker & Harley - BatmanTAS

"Oh, Mr. J!" Harley threw her head back, arching her whole body in a seductive pose. "You're so rough! Pushing me onto a bed like that."

“That's because you're a pushover, Harley.” Joker passed the bed, not even gracing the girl with one look. “You stood in my way like a chicken on the road. And you know what I think of chickens...” There was a dangerous ring to his tone of voice. “Actually... I love them!” He laughed. 

Harley joined in with a playful giggle.

“So? Do you wanna try out the bed?” She bounced on the mattress, making the little bells on her harlequin-hat jingle happily. “It's so soft and...”

“Not now, Harl, I'm busy.” He sat at the dressing table, searching through the shelves. “The Bat is not gonna kill himself ...or is he?”

“Guess not...” Harleen sighed.

“Woo!” A sound of excitement left Joker's mouth and Harley immediately perked up. “Look what I found.” He fished out a handful of lipsticks from the bottom shelf. “Crimson Morning? Or Scarlet Dream?”

The girl glanced at the shades of red to choose from and thought for a long moment. 

“Scarlet Dream,” she finally decided.

In an instant, Joker threw that one to the bin and used the other one. He made a kissy-face at his pale reflection in the mirror.

“Looking good, Mr. J,” Harley tried again, getting out of the bed and moving closer. She wrapped her loving arms around his chest and pressed her breasts to his back.

“You think Batsy is gonna like that color?”

“He better...” She huffed and her puddin' chuckled at that.

“Aw, Harley. My sweet, little Harley,” he turned to her and patter her face. “You're always so supportive to your good, ol' Uncle Joker.” 

His silky voice made Harleen shiver and she blushed the Crimson Morning shade of red.

“Anything for ya, Mr. J.”

“Perhaps... I will find some time for you today...”

He raised from where he was sitting and took Harl by the hand, leading her to the obnoxious heart-shaped bed in the bedroom of the cheap motel they currently were using as their hideout. He jumped onto the mattress and pulled his sidekick girl in, allowing her to sit on his lap, almost as if he was Santa and she was a good child waiting for her wishes to come true. 

Harley squeaked with joy and hugged him with all her might. “Oh, Puddin', I missed you so much when you were in Arkham.”

“I know, Sugarplum,” he whispered into her ear, causing her to shiver some more. “I got all of your post-cards, which by the way were from the Bahamas. What were you even doing there without me, hm?”

“Does that matter?” She purred, still keeping him locked in her warm embrace. “All it matters is that now we are together. Kiss me, Pumpkinpie.” She leaned in, her black-painted lips so close to his red ones when...

“Eeekh!” The wild, high-pitched shriek caught Harleen totally unprepared. The next thing she knew, she was pushed off Joker’s lap to the floor while her sweet Puddin' jumped out of the bed.

“Wha...? What's wrong, Jellybean?” Just in case, she checked her breath, but no – no funny smells were detected.

“Spider!” Joker pointed with his white finger at the head of their bed. “Ugly, hairy, scary spider! Get rid of it, Harley! Now!”

The clown-girl collected herself from the floor, she narrowed her eyes, searching for the culprit. And then she saw it.

“But Puddin'... It's the tiniest, cutest, itsy-bitsy spider I've ever...”

“I don't CARE!” Jokers shrill rolled through the bedroom, as pleasant as the sound of a drill. “Kill it! I'm not going back there until you kill all the spiders!”

Slowly, Harleen’s expression transformed from a confused one to one of cold fury. “No stupid spider will be ruining my romantic date,” she thought, reaching for her mallet.

A few minutes and a few blows from her trade-mark weapon later, the heart-shaped bed was no more – smashed into splinters. Harley, angry and breathless, stood in the middle of the destruction.

“No spider could survive that,” she assured the Joker. “Now, where were we... Mr. J?”

The frown that Joker wore on his face caused her heart to sink.

“And where will I sleep now?” he asked with a cold voice. 

Harleen looked at her feet. “We can...”

“I'm calling dibs on the couch,” he cut her off. “You can have the bedroom for yourself.”

“But Puddin'...?!” 

The door shut behind him before Harley could finish the sentence. She looked around the messy room. Maybe she really wasn't too subtle?

-#-

Joker jumped onto the couch, stretching his lanky limbs and settling himself. A puff of dust went up in the air as his skinny body fell onto green cushions.

Then, he spotted a spider. The small black thing was running across the carpet, probably emerging from under the old couch. 

Joker only giggled. How silly of Harley to buy his little show of arachnophobia. 

“The girl is spending too much time with Crane,” he mused under his breath. “Shrinks – they are all so easy to trick. It's not even a challenge.”

Well, at least he had a good excuse to be left alone. He needed his beauty sleep before he faced his favorite Bat.

“Itsy-bitsy Batsy boo, soon I will be seeing you.”


	30. Up the rabbit hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Story by WorstCase  
> Featuring: The Mad Hatter - Batman Arkham  
> This one is a continuation of chapter 26 "Down the Drain".

It was a bit paradoxical that to go down the rabbit hole Hatter had to actually climb up a ladder. But what a magnificent rabbit hole it was! With an excited giggle, Jervis danced over a rusty walkway. The old factory was huge and derelict but it was not completely deserted. Doves were nesting in the beams holding up the remains of the roof, graffiti was sprayed over any surface and beer-cans, booze bottles, empty pizza boxes, burger wrappings and lots of other trash were loosely strewn about. The city’s gangs apparently held their parties here – very uncultured parties as Hatter didn’t see a single used teabag. 

Some of the tubing from the machines was missing and someone had also been breaking holes into the walls – likely to get at the copper wiring for some easy cash. Combined with the holes in the roof it made the place drafty. It also meant this rabbit hole had a score of exits and entrances. 

And there was treasure! Small things like a notebook with doodles, forgotten in a pocket of a rotting factory jacket, safety goggles with the glasses missing. There was even an old barely chipped teacup, left lying below a writing desk in one of the side offices. If only there was some tea as well but sadly the rest of the office content, mostly papers and files, had been ripped down, thrown on the floor and trampled over.

But there was always another office and another. 

He stuffed his pockets with the spoils of his search: A mousetrap – empty because in Gotham even the thieving vermin knew how to disarm traps, half a roll of packing string, a spoon and … a matchbook? Hatter stared at his last find, he felt like he had somehow forgotten something.

Well it couldn’t have been all that important, or else he would remember it, wouldn’t he?

The matchbook wandered into his pocket and he skipped on to the next office. Maybe someone even had left an old hard hat around? Wouldn’t that be a glorious find?  
Even more so because at the moment he didn’t have his top hat. He had left that one to dry … beside the fire … which he was supposed to find something to light it with for…

Oops?

How angry could Jon possibly be at this point? Jervis fished for his pocket watch and stared at the clockface.

"Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late!  
Jonathan, he hates to wait!  
I just forgot the time.  
But dormouse keeps him company.  
So, they don’t depend on me.  
In fact, they will be fine."

That meant another office to search wouldn’t really matter now, would it? 

One more office became two and then three. Hatter took a look at his watch again. But – it still showed tea-time just as before. He couldn’t very well return late for teatime without even bringing tea now, could he?

When he first heard the low mumble, he had thought Jonathan and Riddler had gotten impatient and followed him. His second thought was of the Bat – but Batman was not really someone he usually associated with low mumbling … or laughing? Unfortunately, he didn’t really associate Scarecrow and Riddler with raucous laughter either. 

Sneaking closer he could tell apart several voices. Thugs – a gang, having a not-tea party. 

In a way this was good. If Batman came to investigate, he was likely going to go for those unlucky, loud fellows first. 

In another way this was bad. Small fry like this packed more guns than braincells. They would shoot first and not even bother to ask any questions later. 

The best would be to completely avoid them. 

There was also no saying, how many of those uncultured punks were wandering around in other parts of the rabbit hole. 

Something rustled in the vent above them and Jervis felt a nervous twitch. Likely it was only mice … or the Bat… 

It was high time to leave this place. Easiest would be to just crawl out through one of the holes in the outer walls. 

Jon and Riddler would be fine. Hatter was 150% sure that Jonathan had held onto his precious canister of fear toxin during this whole ordeal.

Likely they had already lost their patience and left without him anyway.

They would be fine.

He would not be.

Not if he stayed around and got between Batman and the gang. 

Behind one of the exits, the welcoming darkness of a true Gotham night was beckoning him. Yet he hesitated. And he realized – no he couldn’t run like this.

With a sigh, he turned away from his escape route and hurried back to the campsite.

-#-

“For worry, I was out of my mind.  
How could I ever leave you behind?  
I ventured too far.  
But here you are.  
And you are whole,  
Not even a hole!  
You are one of a kind.”

Hatter beamed over his entire face as he picked up his top hat and wiped some grime off it, before he put it back onto his head with a contented sigh. 

Then he turned to Scarecrow and Riddler with a frown. Riddler hadn’t moved since Jonathan had knocked him out and still lay sprawled on his back in the grime.  
And Jon had apparently decided to take a break as well, sitting down, back to the wall of the container and so deeply asleep he hadn’t even noticed Hatter returning.

“I'm so disappointed, I swear!  
Jonathan, you don't even care?  
Look at my hat!  
It could have gone flat!  
And you fell asleep over there.”

That still got him no reaction. Carefully he stepped closer – with Jon there was always the possibility of a cheap jump-scare. But who was he to judge Scarecrow’s guilty little pleasures?

He crouched down and carefully poked Jon into the not injured arm.

“Did you hear a thing I said?  
It's a sewer, not a bed  
Sleeping here is not wise.  
Open your eyes!  
Or… or the Bat won’t be afraid.”

Still no reaction. Riddler wasn’t moving either. Tetch felt a cold weight sink in his stomach.

“Jon? … Ed?  
… Are you dead?”

Nope nope nope! They weren’t dead! They couldn’t be! And as long as he didn’t actually confirm it, they simply weren’t. But they couldn’t run like this either nor could Hatter drag or carry both of them to the exit. He wasn’t sure he could even move one of them on his own. Well maybe… 

He let his pocket watch swing slowly in front of his own eyes.

“Hatter hear my song!  
Now you are strong,  
Lift them up,  
carry away  
do a good job  
and save the day!”

He reached for Jon’s arms and pulled to get him up. But Scarecrow only sagged forward and further down, still as heavy as a rock. Hatter sighed. For some reason that hypnosis trick never worked on himself. And why was never a henchman around when you needed one?

Well, he put his top hat straight, he could do this. There were wild henchmen roaming around. They just hadn’t realized their destiny yet - working for Mad Hatter!  
It would surely be easier if he was simply carding them.  
Unfortunately, Batman had already stolen all his control cards earlier this evening.  
He would just have to make those uncultured thugs listen long enough to hypnotize them instead. Now that he thought about it, their boss had been wearing an interesting knit hat, the hat of the boss!

If he had that they would all do his bidding! And those that didn’t? He took the rusty iron bar, Scarecrow had pulled out of the grate earlier. Oh yes, heads off! He only needed two of those henchies as pack-mules anyway.

-#-

The trick to success was observing your target, picking off one by one when they were alone and also hypnotize them one by one… Hatter had snuck up on the gang-members as silently as he could.

It was crucial to find out what they were up to first. Were they gathering to go for a territorial fight with one of the countless other gangs? Were they here to make a weapon deal? Were they planning a mugging? Taking drugs? Or were they just going to drink themselves into a stupor?

Actually – it looked like nothing of the above.

Rather they were handling tools. Were they going to steal more of the copper wiring? Trying to dig some sort of tunnel to a bank?

Their boss was staring at what was likely a blueprint in apparent confusion while trying to direct the others’ efforts.

And they had an open crate with…

Hatter sharply exhaled, stood up from the crouch behind his cover and approached.

The men froze at what they were doing, all staring at him like little kids caught with the hands in the cookie jar.

“Riddler, sent you here, I see  
but now please come and follow me.  
You shouldn’t wait,  
or it will be too late.  
It’s an emergency.”

The goons still stared at him, not moving. Then finally one ‘whispered’ to their boss: “I dunno. Is he the real deal? I mean it could just be some random small dude with a big hat?”

How rude! Didn’t he realize Jervis could hear him very well?

“Idiot! No one in their right mind would pretend to be the Mad Hatter!” the boss hissed back.

Luckily Edward still insisted on hiring some of the smarter thugs – of course, no one would dare to steal the mighty Mad Hatter’s identity.

“Now what is that emergency? We can’t just drop everything we are doing - Riddler wants this set up by tomorrow.”

“Riddler’s in a pickle.  
Today his luck has been rather fickle.  
There’s no tomorrow to be had,  
if by morning he is dead.  
And you won’t be paid a nickel.”  
Hatter pointed out.

“Yeah, if he bites the dust, we won’t get paid, I guess.” The boss groaned at the complication. “But how did you even know we work for Riddler in the first place? This was supposed to be a top-secret operation.”

Hatter sighed and just pointed at the crate filled with glowy-green question mark-trophies. 

“Just one inquiry before we go.  
Green is his trademark, as all of us know.  
But I think,  
one trophy is … pink?  
Care tell me as of, why is that so?”

**Author's Note:**

> This collection is created by two authors (WorstCase and temarcia). We still take requests for the series. Leave your prompt/character/pairing in the comment.


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